Game of Chess
by NotTasha
Summary: A series of stories involving Nathan's hobby. The first 4 stories are old installments to this series. A new story will begin with Part 5
1. Winning Side

_RATING: PG... for some mild swearing  
CATEGORY: Challenge - OW  
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra and Nathan  
DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
NOTE: This is in response to the March 2002 Magnificent 7 Challenge, offered by Katherine: Give any one of the seven a hobby the other six do not know about, until events conspire to bring it to their attention. Hobby must not be anything previously mentioned in other stories...i.e. no working at a shelter for Josiah, no piano playing for Ezra, no working with neighborhood kids for Vin. You get the idea. In essence I want to know what one of the boys does with his down time, and the reaction of the others when they find out. They aren't always working.  
DATE: Originally posted March 16, 2002_

 **A Game of Chess I - The Winning Side**  
 _By NotTasha_

* * *

Nathan frowned as he leaned in to take a good look at the abscessed wound. It was thick with pus and red with infection - an angry, awful, untended, painful, oozy and smelly wound - it was almost as disgusting as the man attached to it.

Abner Cray, in spite of the wound's state, was as strong as a bull. He sat up in his sickbed, watching the healer warily. "Weren't but a scratch," he muttered. "Axe went a little stray. Done what I could." He yelped as the healer prodded. "Hey! Watch it!" One meaty paw swung out at Jackson, almost catching the distracted healer across the chin.

Nathan managed to jerk his head out of the way in time as the angry invalid stared balefully at him.

"Fix it! Don't make it worse!" Abner snatched the bottle of whiskey from the table and took another drink.

"Mr. Cray," Nathan heard the softly spoken, but threatening tone from somewhere behind him. "I would ask that you allow Mr. Jackson to do his work unimpeded. If you lay a hand on him, you shall find yourself in much more dire straits."

Nathan grinned and shook his head. He was never quite prepared for Ezra's protective nature.

He'd finished his examination of the wound, after cutting back the filthy pant-leg and scrubbing off some of the grime that caked the leg. He didn't have to wonder how the cut had become so infected. In fact, it was a miracle that the damage wasn't worse, that Cray wasn't off his head with fever.

"You done fartin' around?" Cray asked darkly. "I could 'ave done it myself considerin' all the time you've wasted. Would 'ave hurt less, for sure."

"That water 'bout ready t'boil, Ezra?" Jackson asked, ignoring the bear of a man with the bear of a temper.

Ezra sauntered across the small, dim, dirt-floor cabin to the wood stove. "Give it another minute or so," he said after a quick glance at the pot.

"Cray," Jackson moved so that he could look the man in the eye. He spoke bluntly. "I'm gonna have to cut down into this scratch of yours and drain off the infection. Gonna hurt."

Cray looked unsure. "Figure you should leave it alone. Maybe it'll just go away…"

"It ain't gone away over the past few days, has it?" Nathan inquired. "Leave it as it is and it'll keep gettin' worse. Gonna go gangrene. You'll lose the leg."

Cray grimaced, but nodded curtly.

Jackson sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. He wished Josiah, Buck, Chris or even Yosemite had been available when Peterson rode in, telling them of his partner's condition. He wished that at least Peterson had come back to the remote cabin with them - but the miner disappeared into the closest saloon in town, intent on getting as drunk as possible considering his limited funds.

There was no time to wait around for extra hands. It would be dark by the time they reached Cray and Peterson's cabin as it was. Nathan had to settle for Ezra as his only assistant.

Beggars can't be choosers.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the gambler's help. What he needed was bulk, a little extra weight, a bigger body to hold down the miner during the operation. Cray looked like he'd be a fighter and Jackson definitely wanted to be on the winning side of this situation.

A bigger assistant would've helped, but he'd work with what he'd been given. That was the mark of greatness - turning an unfavorable predicament around into a triumph.

Nathan liked being on the winning side.

Cray took another long draw from the bottle, watching Nathan reproachfully. The healer crouched over the man's leg again, trying to chart exactly where to cut, planning out his every move.

"I'm gonna need that whiskey now, Cray," Nathan declared.

Cray's leg twitched and the man belched wetly. Nathan grimaced and leaned back.

"Lord," Standish muttered. "We live among such Neanderthals."

Cray laughed harshly and scratched his armpit. He slung back the bottle again. "I need more medicine."

Finished with plotting his work, the healer called, "Ezra, can you hand me my surgical kit?" He gestured toward his saddlebags as he watched Cray drink the better part of the whiskey.

Ezra picked a roll of deerskin from the healer's gear and opened it on the bedside table so that Nathan would have easy access. Cray's gaze instantly fastened on the little knives. He sucked back on the whiskey and shuddered. Ezra turned sharply toward the stove as the pot started to boil over, hurrying to retrieve it.

Nathan finally wrestled the bottle away from Cray.

"Lemmie have one more," Cray insisted.

"I'm gonna want some alcohol to clean up my tools and…" Nathan's eyes finally traveled to the soft leather roll that had been unfurled beside him. There were a dozen little blades, all arranged in their own special pockets, each designed for their own specific use: Tiny delicate knives, short strong blades, sharp little awls, and chisels of various widths - from whisker-thin to the breadth of a thumb.

 _Damn_ , he thought as he stared at them. _I thought I'd buried that set to the bottom of the saddlebag_. He winced as he remembered the last minute rearranging of the pack. "Wrong ones, Ezra," he finally managed to say. "I need the other roll."

Ezra was quickly at his side again with the other set of knives. "A thousand pardons, Mr. Jackson," he said as he switched one set for another. "I was distracted. I should've realized my mistake."

Jackson sighed as he saw the surgical knives -larger, older, sharper, sturdier than the first set - complete with forceps, saw and pliers. Cray looked at the more formidable tools and turned a little green.

The process of reopening the wound and cleaning out the nastiness that had collected there was an arduous task. Even in his drunken state, Cray proved to be a formidable force to control, but Jackson was happy that Standish managed him fairly well. Cray ended up pinned against the headboard through most of the procedure by Ezra, with the healer sitting on his feet.

Cray had whimpered, cried out, yelled, moaned and called for his mommy.

It was late by the time they completed their task. Cray dropped off to a drunken slumber almost immediately, filling the room with his loud snore. The two weary men washed up and then sat back against the wall. There was nothing to sit on in the cabin except for the two beds and two rough chairs. The beds did not look clean enough for human habitation. The dirt floor looked more comfortable than the chairs.

Ezra rubbed his neck and stretched his back. Nathan ran his hand over his eyes and sighed. _Damn, that was a tiring way to make a living_ , Jackson thought.

"Lord," Ezra muttered. "I'm glad that's over. You'd think a man would learn to take care of himself. He would've saved us a day of abuse if he'd just had that wound seen to properly to begin with. You'd think he'd be grateful for your efforts." He frowned, remembering the bitter comments that Cray had uttered almost non-stop. He added, "The man is a fool."

"World is made of fools, Ezra."

"And we are among them," Ezra included, pulling his flask from his pocket. He toasted the healer and took a draw before handing it to Jackson.

Jackson took his turn, relishing the fine liquor before handing it back to its owner and the two of them sat in a weary silence for several minutes.

"I hope that I'm not that disagreeable when under your care," Ezra said tentatively.

"Nope," Jackson responded. "You're worse." And then he laughed when he saw Ezra's hurt look. He waved a hand to show he was only fooling, and Standish chuckled along with him.

He watched as Ezra examined his jacket. The dandy sniffed experimentally at his sleeve and grimaced. "Lord, the smell of the beast is on me. I'll have to have this burned."

"Yeah," Nathan sighed. "Probably'll have to give my tools a good boiling. The smell isn't going to come off easy."

Ezra pursed his lips as if in thought and then asked, "How long have you been carving?" When Nathan didn't answer immediately, Standish continued, "It makes perfect sense, of course. You're very skilled with the blade in both surgery and swordsmanship." He raised his eyes. "They seemed to be very fine wood-carving tools."

"Aw, Ez," Nathan finally muttered. "They're just for fun. I don't do much with them."

"You have an admirable skill with the knife, Mr. Jackson," Ezra said, pulling a deck of cards from his pocket and shuffling it easily with one hand. "And so much of your time is tied up with helping others - either through your law enforcement duties or through actions such as this." He gestured to the bed where Cray snored. "I find it only logical that you should find a pastime away from such pressing and consequential duties." The deck seemed to dance in his one hand, cards flying in perfect synchronization.

Nathan still hadn't spoken. He lowered his head and stared at the floor.

Ezra continued, "One must find something to do in order to relax." He smiled broadly. "I've made a profession of relaxing. My life is made up of games and leisure, which - I hate to admit - grows tiring after a time. One can only play for so many hours in a week. Law enforcement is my hobby. Yes, picking up a gun and following you fine men into battle against evil-doers is my idea of an amateur's activity."

Nathan smirked at this comment, knowing how often he'd berated the Standish for his apparent laziness. "Sounds about right," he commented.

"So, certainly, you must find a pursuit to bide your time, relax your mind and restore your energy?"

"I guess I do a bit of carving," Nathan finally admitted.

"Ah! As I suspected." Ezra nodded. "Anything in particular?"

"Just this and that," Jackson replied. "Nothin' important."

"I'm certain the work is excellent." Ezra concentrated on his cards, not pressing the reluctant healer. "I suppose we'll spend the night here," he commented to change the subject.

"Seems that way," Nathan continued. "Want to check on Cray in the morning anyway. Make sure things are goin' okay. Don't look as if Peterson is comin' back tonight."

"I certainly hope not. He's even worse than Mr. Cray when he's been drinking."

"Think Cray and Peterson's got anythin' here we could use for dinner?"

Ezra made a disgusted face, remembering the filth they'd scrubbed off the man. "Doubtful."

"I'll see what I got in my bags. I probably got somethin' that'd work."

"Excellent." Ezra switched the cards to his other hand and continued the endless one-handed shuffling.

Jackson strode to his saddlebags. As he rifled through the bags of medicines and mixes, Jackson's hand closed on a cloth pouch. He'd placed it in his saddlebags, along with another and the carving tools, because he'd planned to take a trip to Ridge City on the following day. The evening in the other town would have afforded him a little leisure time.

He drew out the first pouch and held it to his chest for a moment and then glanced at Ezra, who seemed content at watching the cards fly in his hand.

Finally, after coming to a decision, he carried the bag to the other man and waited for him to look up.

"Mr. Jackson?" Ezra asked, noting the look on Nathan's face. "Is there a problem?"

"This is just somethin' I was working on," Jackson said softly, holding the cloth bag out. "I thought you'd like to see it 'cause you were interested in carving. It's not much."

With a quick movement, the cards disappeared into Ezra's vest pocket. He eagerly rubbed his hands together before accepting the bag from Jackson.

From the bag, Standish withdrew eight objects wrapped in cloth. He unwound them carefully, finding figures in pale pinewood. Three were featureless and rough pillars, about the length of an index finger – unfinished works. The other five had been carved into easily identifiable shapes. Ezra set the shapes down in his lap and picked up the two towers first.

"Impressive," Standish breathed, as he ran his thumb over the careful brickwork of the first, a stronghold. Little windows had been notched out and parapets dotted the crown. The second was made to resemble a fort's bastion, carved to look as if it had been constructed of timbers. They both looked like impregnable structures, ready to face any onslaught.

He set down the first set and picked up the next two matched pieces. They were human shaped, men in clerical dress. One man was fat, while the other was stick-thin. Both wore miters and richly adorned vestments, declaring their attachment to the church. Each had a crooked cane clasped in one hand with the other raised to offer a benediction.

"I can almost hear the Latin," Ezra said with a laugh as he examined their faces, one jovial - the other severe.

The final carved piece was unfinished, a horse and rider. The horse was rearing back - its nostrils flared, its mane flowed wildly. It nearly danced in the palm of his hand. The rider was still rough, but starting to come into focus. He wore a military uniform and had a bearded face. One arm was raised above his head, brandishing a sword.

"These are lovely, Nathan," Ezra said with a sigh. "Truly masterful."

Nathan looked at his feet and hoped his blush wasn't evident. "They're not much."

"Do you know these men?" Standish asked, holding up the two clergymen. "They seem so real - as if they've just stepped from the pulpit."

Nathan smiled. "One of them is Reverend Grady. He used to live near the plantation where…where I was a slave." He shrugged. "He was a good enough man, but he kept his distance. The other one is Father Antonio. I stayed for a time at his church after I escaped." He paused then, wondering if he should have mentioned that to this southerner.

"Let me guess," Ezra held up the thin figure with the severe look. "This one is Father Antonio?"

Jackson smiled slightly. "How'd you guess? I figured the other looked like a nicer guy."

"Your knife-work is exceptional," Ezra commented. "One can tell by the way you carved their eyes that Grady is a somewhat distant man. It's equally obvious that Antonio would give you the cassock off his back."

"You can tell that?" Nathan asked.

"Excellent work, Mr. Jackson. I'm impressed. Very impressed." He spent several more minutes examining the pieces from all angles, not saying a word. Finally, he said, "Thank you for sharing them with me." And he carefully wrapped the men again in their little oiled rags and placing the eight packets into the bag. After handing the bag back to Jackson, Ezra asked, "Have you finished the black set already?"

Nathan looked startled for a moment, so Ezra continued. "Certainly, this is a part of a chess set."

Jackson considered his options and, after a moment, rose and went to his saddlebags again, pulling out the other pouch from deep within the bag. He rifled through it and pocketed one piece before he turned toward his friend. "I got the black set done already. Just keep a few of the pieces with me to match 'em with the white ones." He handed the bag to Ezra.

The wood that emerged from the little protective cloths was a rich mahogany, deep and dark, oiled and polished. Ezra turned the pieces over in his hand, examining them carefully. There was one of each of the major pieces. The rook was a narrow pyramid, the blocks carefully etched. The bishop wore an intricate mask and held a staff adorned with feathers in one hand and a rattle in the other. The knight was nearly naked, his hair short as a skullcap. The king and queen wore robes of leopard skins, the little spots carefully carved into the wood. Their features were obviously African.

Nathan rubbed his hands together, embarrassed and concerned as he watched Ezra scrutinize the pieces. "I just thought, since the wood was dark…" Jackson didn't know how to go about explaining why he made the black pieces the way he did. He'd never seen anyone carve African features on a chess piece. He'd never seen a representation of someone of his race that didn't include rolling eyes, fat lips and a wide toothy grin. He'd never seen a realistic portrayal of a black man before he created these pieces. It made him feel more real just to see these images come into being.

"They're positively wonderful, Nathan," Ezra said, as he turned the pieces in his hand.

"They're not exactly right. I carved these years ago, while I was still learning how to do it. They're a bit rough. The proportions aren't always right."

"They're perfect."

"I've never actually seen folks dressed like this. Just heard stories is all and had to make it up in my mind. Didn't know exactly how to stripe a zebra, but I tried my best. I saw an image of one on a circus poster once."

"I saw one once at a zoological garden. You did remarkably well for never actually setting eyes on the creature, and with only a glance at a poster? Marvelous."

Nathan smiled slightly and then added, "I know that people don't ride zebras but I thought it'd make a good knight. The other knight's on an antelope."

"It fits well," Ezra nodded. "And one is allowed a certain amount of artistic license."

Cray snorted and mumbled in his sleep.

"I probably shouldn't have made the bishop like that." Nathan sighed. "He's supposed to be a medicine man, a shaman. It's probably goes against the bible. It was wrong, I guess."

"It makes perfect sense to me. And God created all living creatures, so how could any one of them be considered blasphemous?" Ezra smiled. He set down the medicine man and picked up a rook.

"The pyramid…" Nathan started.

"Is in Africa as well," Ezra concluded. "What did you use as the other?"

Nathan smiled a little. "It's this place called the Leptis Magna."

Ezra raised a skeptical eyebrow at the name. "I can't say I've ever heard of it."

"It exists," Nathan insisted. "I saw a photograph and I did my best to make it right."

"I have no doubts," Ezra responded. "All of this is wonderfully completed. I'm very impressed." He raised his gaze and asked, "You've entirely finished the black set? Pawns and everything?"

"Yeah," Nathan said with a nod, watching the careful way that Ezra handled the black chess pieces. "Got 'em all done."

Ezra continued to examine the set. "Again, the features are wonderful. Did you know these people?"

Nathan nodded tightly. "Slaves on the plantation. Others I've met since then. The pawns are all different -people I knew. They're not so fancy as these, but I can remember those folks when I see 'em."

"I'm sure your friends would be deeply honored if they knew. Did you include yourself?"

Nathan chuckled and shook his head. Finally, after a moment of thought, he revealed the piece he'd secreted.

Ezra flashed his gold tooth as he unrolled the cloth and revealed the pawn with Nathan Jackson's face. It was in the same proportions as the larger pieces, but the figure crouched, as if ready to pounce into battle. Nathan was dressed as an African Warrior, brandishing a knife in one hand.

"Mr. Jackson," Ezra uttered. "I'm impressed. I've never seen you so…fierce before."

Nathan took back the piece, sure that he was blushing. "It's just that artistic license thing you were talkin' about," he murmured.

Cray continued to snore loudly, cutting enough wood to keep them all winter.

Ezra turned his attention back on the figures in his lap. He asked quietly, "Is the black king your father?" He held the elegant figure toward the healer. The leopard-skin robe flowed magnificently from his strong shoulders. In his hand he held a staff, his other arm was out before him, issuing a command.

"Don't look much like he did when he was in Four Corners - when you saw him," Nathan replied, his voice soft - remembering. "This was when he was young and strong. The queen - is my mama."

"Lovely, Nathan. You truly have captured a strong spirit in them. She must have been a remarkable woman." He handled the black queen gently.

"Yeah, she was." After a moment, he added, "My sisters are pawns. I carved them as I remembered them. They were just children the last time I saw them."

The two men sat near the wood stove, the southerner holding the black chess pieces while the former slave watched him, holding the bag of white pieces.

"Perhaps," Ezra said as he wrapped them up again. "Perhaps we could play a game once the entire set is complete?"

"I got a ways to go," Nathan returned. "Still got the other white knight, the king and queen and then all the pawns. It took me years to get this far. Don't know if I'll ever get it all done."

"You certainly will complete it. I don't see how you can stop." Ezra said as he returned the pieces to their bag.

"Well, I 'spect when it's done we can have a game. But, I figure it'll take at least another year if I can find the time."

Ezra nodded. "I'm willing to wait. It would be an honor to play with such a set." He cocked his head and his eyes took on that speculative look that Nathan had seen before. "If you were to sell it, I'm certain you could fetch a pretty penny for it. I know of a man who could possibly pay as much as a hundred dollars for a set of this quality. If you went through the right broker…"

"I ain't aimin' to sell it, Ezra," Nathan returned quickly as he picked up the bag of black pieces.

"Still," Ezra said with a shrug.

Nathan put the bags back in his saddlebags and went about preparing something for their dinner. Ezra extracted a pair of apples and some fresh bread from his stores and added it to what Nathan found. They had a small feast, talking amiably about nothing in particular.

Finally, when the meal was finished, Ezra yawned and stretched. "I suppose we should try to get some sleep. Morning will come soon enough and Mr. Cray will awaken unpleasantly." He removed his soiled jacket with a sigh and set it over the back of one of the chairs. "I suppose I should save this until then. There may be another wrestling match."

"I 'spect you're right." Nathan agreed. "He's about as charmin' as Top Hat Bob."

"And equally odiferous," Ezra added. Soon they had laid out their bedrolls on the dirt floor of the cabin, and they were ready for the night. "Goodnight, Mr. Jackson."

Ezra had just crawled into his blankets when Nathan asked quietly, "A hundred dollars?"

"Perhaps two hundred at the right auction. The price would go higher if the bidders wanted it badly enough. I'm not kidding you, Nathan," Ezra said, turning a serious eye on Jackson. "They're of the very best quality." He lay back in his blankets and added sharply, "Never sell it."

Nathan lay down in his bedroll, settling himself on the uneven floor. Ezra was already asleep, snoring very softly – almost inaudibly. Standish could fall asleep quicker than anyone Jackson knew.

Chuckling to himself as he dimmed the lantern, Nathan realized what Ezra had revealed to him. Jackson had always considered Four Corners to be his home - that he'd live there for the rest of his life if he could. A year or two of residence came without question. But, Ezra, the rootless and rambling gambler, had just informed him that he was willing to wait a year to play a game with the completed chess set.

 _So, you plan to stay, Ezra P. Standish?_ Nathan thought. _Good. Good for you. Good for all of us. Good for me, too._

Nathan lay awake for some time, listening to Cray's deep snores and Ezra's quiet ones. _Yeah_ , he thought, _good for me too. I guess I need someone like you around to remind me of things. I guess I need someone to poke me every now and again._

Ezra's reaction to the chess pieces had truly surprised him. He hadn't expected the southern-boy would be so open-minded - but Ezra was always surprising him. Why did he instantly expect Standish to react badly when he saw the black figures?

 _Good that you're here, Ezra. I need you here to remind me that people are never what you expect._

It had been easy to carve the black figures in the chess set; the faces of friends and family came to him instantly, the images almost carved themselves into the wood. The first white knights was Captain Giles, a soldier he'd known in the army. The other would be Doctor Klein, the surgeon he had worked beside. The white king would be Abraham Lincoln - the freer of the slaves, and the queen would be Mary Todd. The pawns had been a puzzle to him - eight white figures, waiting for forms and faces.

He'd debated putting Chris and the others into the pawns. Somehow it didn't fit - no those men were not the _'pawn'_ type. Yet, he remembered what Ezra had said about the black pawns and how his friends would feel honored to be included. Well, couldn't that be true of the white pawns? Shouldn't he include his present friends as well? After all, they deserved to be included in the map of his life as much as the others.

There were eight pawns - six could be the men he worked with, his friends. His mind began to consider the curves and angles, the tools he'd use to carve each one of them. Quickly, he decided what they'd be wearing, what they'd carry in their hands. Chris would wear his long duster and carry his Yellowboy rifle. Vin would wear that ragged jacket and hold his mare's leg. JD would have his bowler and Colts. Josiah might tuck a bible under one arm. He could see the mustache and amiable smile that would form in the wood on Buck's face. Ezra - well, he'd be dressed in his finery and have that pop-gun in one hand. He considered adding a fleck of gold dust to his smile, a surprise for players to find.

He'd create a pawn for Billy Travis, too - because he always had a fond spot for the boy. He wouldn't arm the boy with deadly weapons. Billy would carry a sling-shot.

But that left one last pawn…

 _Well_ , he thought, _it can't be me. That just wouldn't fit would it? I'm already one of the black pawns._

He lay for a long time on the dirt floor of the dirty cabin, thinking about eight pawns - and seven faces. Finally, just as he was about to drop off to sleep, he came to a simple conclusion. He'd be a white pawn as well.

Sure, he was already one of the black pawns, but he knew that he couldn't let his friends face a battle without him. No, they'd stay together, all of them, a defending row against the approaching enemy. Besides, he figured, either way, white or black, no matter the outcome, he'd be on the winning side.

THE END

TBC in next story - The Gift of Patience


	2. Gift of Patience

_RATING: PG  
CATEGORY: Challenge - OW  
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Nathan and Ezra  
DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
NOTE: This is in response to the October 2004 Magnificent 7 Challenge, offered by Tipper: One (or more) of the Seven leaves another one of the Seven a gift. It can be anything. Rules are: (1) the receiver is alone when he finds/receives the gift, (2) the title of the story must include the word "Gift" and (3) you must use one of the following words: pumpkin, witch, monster, candy, trick, treat. BONUS: I double dog dare you to try and use the words "googlism" (I dare NT in particular to use that in an OW fic!) and "abstruse" (just cause it's a cool word).  
SUMMARY: I squeaked in "googlism". Sure, it was a cheat - but a cheat comes in handy sometimes. Nathan is watching over an ill Ezra when a package arrives.  
DATE: Originally posted October 18, 2004_

 **A Game of Chess II: A Gift of Patience**  
 _By NotTasha_

* * *

A knock on the door awoke him from his half-slumber. Nathan jerked up his head and blinked at the doorway, taking a moment to clear his mind and remember where he was. He coughed and shook his head, feeling every ache that came from sitting too long in a wooden chair.

Someone had knocked. Was it Josiah or Chris or one of the others? No, they would have barged right in. Who then? Jackson ran one hand across the corner of his mouth, wiping away a trail of drool as he contemplated.

The knock repeated. "Mr. Jackson?" someone called in a reedy voice.

 _Who the hell was that?_

"Coming," Nathan muttered as he stiffly stood and stretched. With a determined stride, he headed to the door. He opened it, letting in the crisp autumn breeze, to find Finn from the hotel.

The lanky clerk wrestled with an odd-sized crate. "Hey," Finn stated, nodding toward the stage below them. "This come in." He hefted it, trying to rest the strange box on his knee while keeping one hand on either edge, spreading his arms to encompass it. "I was waitin' at the coach-stop to see if there was anyone who needed a room, but there weren't no one getting off." He sounded disappointed, but brightened when he added, "They had this package though, so I brung it up."

Jackson frowned. "Don't remember orderin' something," he commented, trying to figure out what might be within the large and heavy, thin, square-shaped package. It didn't seem deep enough to hold anything, but Finn was hardly able to keep it in his hands. "Who would send me anything?"

"Oh, it ain't for you." Finn hopped back as he struggled with his load. "I was gonna bring it to his room, but I figured… well…" and a troubled look crossed his pasty, mustached face as he indicated the bed with his head. "You know, might as well bring it to him."

Nathan nodded. "Thanks, Finn," he uttered and put his hands on the awkward package. It took a moment to find the best way to hold it.

"I think it's full of rocks," the clerk told the healer as he released it. Nathan grunted when he felt the full weight. "They ain't rattling in there, but that's what I figure." When Nathan didn't respond, Finn snuffled and jammed his freed hands into his pockets. "He gonna be okay?"

"I hope so," Nathan responded.

Finn nodded, accepting the answer for what it was. He eyed the bed fretfully and stepped back from the doorway, as if frightened to enter the sick room. Nathan wondered why he worried. The clerk always looked on the verge of succumbing to some terrible illness, but somehow avoided every one that came through the town. How could someone so sickly-looking keep going? The pimple-faced hotel clerk with the weedy mustache was a medical mystery.

"If you need anythin', just let me know, okay?" the clerk told Nathan. "The boss says…" Finn started, meaning Virginia Bluth, the owner of Virginia's Hotel, "… we'll help any way you need."

"Thanks," Nathan responded, still trying to master the right hold on the box. When the hotel clerk didn't move, Jackson said, "You should be goin', Finn."

"Yeah," the clerk answered, moving uncomfortably. "I hope he gets better," he said and turned, hands still in pockets. He let the door shut, and soon he was clomping down the stairs.

Nathan hefted the load into the room and, with a grunt, set it flat on the table. Damn, it sure seemed like Finn was right and the thing was full of rocks. A card was tied into the cord and he tugged at it, pulling it loose. Nathan turned the letter in his fingers, finding the envelope unsealed. He regarded it a moment before he let the note rest atop the crate, displaying the address as "Mr. E. Standish c/o Four Corners Jail".

Jackson sat down in the chair at the bedside, greeting softly, "Hey, Ezra."

Standish gave no indication he heard. He shuffled under the covers. Splinted, bandaged and beat all to heck, it didn't look like he'd be answering anytime soon.

With a sigh, Nathan picked up a rag from the bowl on the bedside table and used it to mop down Ezra's fevered, bruised head. "Something come for you," he continued, his voice low and soothing. "Maybe you'll open your eyes and take a look?"

Two days ago, the seven of them had ridden out, chasing down some foe that had dared attack their town. Two luckless townspeople had died in their attack. Those men were hunted down and cornered the men in a canyon.

The lawmen from Four Corners had thought the battle was won.

Jackson remembered that feeling of triumph. It felt good to win. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he stayed amongst these people – they were winners – they were the top dogs – they'd always come out ahead.

Then things started going to crap. They'd been too confident - too sure of their victory – too damn spread out. Ezra had been on the far left of their group, undefended, out on his own. Chris had sent him in that direction to defend their left flank. "Don't let those bastards get in behind us," he'd chided Standish, and had received a nod in return.

But the bastard did get in. Some son-of-a-bitch had circled around and had taken down Ezra before the rest had a chance to move. Nathan recalled how his heart had raced, hearing the shot and Ezra's pain-filled shout. The outlaw had gotten to him and had dragged the bleeding man back to camp. Nathan had scrambled, trying his damnedest to get there in time, but the others had moved too fast.

The gang had captured Standish, thinking him a mere pawn in the game. They'd threatened terrible things – beaten him, punishing him for their own sins. They thought themselves safe with their shield.

They were wrong.

The hounds of hell were unleashed upon them and the gang hardly knew what hit them as Josiah and Chris exploded into their stronghold – as Buck and Vin attacked from above – as JD and Nathan Jackson came in from different angles, trapping them in.

The bandits had reduced their odds of surviving significantly with that stunt. Maybe, Larabee would have let them live if they hadn't resorted to such dirty tricks, if they hadn't hurt one of the Seven. After the lawmen of Four Corners saw what those monsters had done to Ezra, those men hadn't had a chance in hell.

"You can save 'im?" Buck had asked Nathan, his voice thick as he leaned over their hurt brother.

"'Course," Ezra had answered for the healer, gasping and coughing, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, his face swollen and bleeding. "No doubts."

But Nathan had his. It had taken them too long to get to Ezra, they'd had allowed those desperados too much time. The healer dug into Ezra's flesh to remove the bullet, had patched up the bleeding hole, set the bones of a damaged arm, and tended the bruises that those bastards had inflicted on the already injured gambler. They'd kicked him, had used him as a punching bag. Bruised and broken, Ezra had fallen unconscious almost as soon as they'd found him and hadn't really come around since.

Standish had surfaced for a moment or two since they returned to Four Corners, delirious and breathless with pain. Nathan would force down medicine, water, anything that might give him a chance to fight the fever, to fix the damage, to bring him back.

Ezra would drift away again, submerging into the pain and delirium.

 _Should've kept a better eye on him_ , Nathan decided. _Shouldn't have left him out there all alone, allowing him to be sacrificed. Should've watched out for him._

Nathan sighed and sat back in his chair, wishing and hoping still. Ezra was a fighter, after all, and he'd beat this. Ezra liked winning as much as Nathan – maybe more even. An incentive might help him keep going, a carrot to dangle at the end of a stick.

"Ezra," Nathan said softly. "A package came for you."

Ezra drew in another breath and released it. His voice, harsh and thick, sounded, but the words were abstruse, and Nathan had no idea what was said. Standish may have said, "For the love of God," but it could also have been, "Ford the jib jab."

"Ain't you curious about what's in it?" Nathan asked, as he turned the card about. "Could be something you'd want to see. Might be important. Sure is heavy as hell. Finn thinks it's rocks." And Nathan remembered when Maude had come to town, laden with brick-filled luggage. "You ain't takin' after your ma, now, are ya, Ez?" He smiled at that memory. He'd liked Maude. Heck, the woman had employed him as a doctor! And he sighed at that memory, thinking that the woman had turned out to be a bit of a witch, destroying Ezra's dream.

And Nathan had fallen for her scheme, had been a part of it. Ezra should have been disappointed in him for that. He could have held a grudge against them all. But, no, Ezra just shook off the disillusionment as a duck might shake off water.

There was something remarkably patient about the gambler. Nathan expected it came from long poker games and the staging of intricate cons. For a man who seemed all about immediate action, succumbing to base needs, and endless frivolity, Ezra could be remarkably lenient.

 _Heck, he's put up with my jibes,_ Nathan thought. _And it hardly seems to affect him… hardly._

Wanting to chase away that thought, Nathan opened the flap on the envelope. He cleared his throat and spoke, "Maybe I should see what this is about, huh? I don't mean to pry. Just want to make sure nothing gets forgotten." He had to do something other than just sit here, waiting, hoping that Ezra would come out of this.

"Just say something if you want me to stop."

The sick man didn't say anything, so Nathan pulled the card from the envelope.

 _"Mr. Standish:"_ he read aloud. _"I'm sorry it's taken so long to complete this work for you. Your specifications were a bit more involved than I realized, but I'm sure you'll agree that the extra time was worthwhile when you see the finished product. I hope you find it satisfactory. Thank you for the payment that you sent in advance. All expenses were covered. It has been a pleasure doing business with you. Sincerely, Mr. Edgar Whup."_

Nathan regarded the box again, unable to figure out what could fill it – skinny, square and heavy as anything - obviously something more than mere rocks. "Ezra," Nathan said hopefully. "You gotta wake up so I can see what's in there. Seems you spent some money and some time on it. Be a shame to just leave it here, waitin' for you." Nathan drummed his fingers on the crate, and set the note on the bedside table, wishing there was more.

Why would an itinerant gambler want something so heavy and awkward?

Ezra gasped again, turning his head and twisting in the bed.

"You'll beat this, Ezra," Nathan vehemently told the ailing man, as he picked up the rag and ran it over Ezra's hot forehead. "Don't let those sons-of-bitches win. They don't deserve it. They're not taking you. You belong with us, you know that."

Ezra murmured softly. The word came out throaty and unintelligible as Ezra gasped while he spoke. Nathan leaned closer, willing himself to understand the phonetic stops. Ezra might have said, "Go get 'em." It also could have been "googlism".

"We got 'em, Ez," Nathan assured, wringing out the cloth to dip it again in the water. "Sons of bitches," he repeated.

Ezra tried to move his broken arm and stopped before Nathan could counter the move. Standish let out a slow, pained breath, leaving Nathan in misery.

Nathan placed a calming hand on Ezra's shoulder, keeping him from trying that move again. "The boys have been 'round," he stated, wanting, hoping to draw Ezra's mind away from his constant pain. "They've been here almost always. I can hardly keep 'em out. Finally shooed 'em off. I hear Massachusetts Meg's been busy." He chuckled, wanting to find humor somewhere. "JD tells me he saw her slinking out the back of the church yesterday, and right after that Josiah came out the front door. First time anyone seen him relax a little since you got…" And the healer stopped again, hating this.

"We shouldn't be here," Nathan voiced quietly. "You should be strutting down the boardwalk right now, checking out your reflection in the windows, looking like a damn peacock as ya head to Potter's store and get some candy for your damn horse. I should be hanging out in the saloon or on the boardwalk…or the jail." Ezra was quieting as Nathan spoke, his useless movement stilling as he fell into a deeper sleep. Nathan paused and set the rag back in the bowl. The contents were warm again. He'd have to send someone to the well for cold water. Still, the room temperature wet rag was cooler than Ezra's burning head.

"I could be helping out somewhere else in town. Billy's gonna be carving a pumpkin. He wanted my help. Said I was the best at carving. If you'd just get better…"

Blowing out a breath, Nathan realized that the only carving he'd done lately was to get the bullet out of Ezra. "Would have been nice," Jackson stated, "But I guess I'm gonna stay put for a while yet. I have to wait until you open your eyes. Gonna be soon, I reckon. You won't let them win."

Ezra said nothing.

"Lord, Ezra, I hate this waiting," Nathan admitted. "Seems most of my life has been spent waitin' for one of you boys to wake up from a hurt. Don't think I can handle it much longer. Don't think I like it much at all."

Outside, people moved through the clear autumn weather. Children were laughing. Dogs barked and horses whinnied. Within the clinic, Ezra still fought his fight and Nathan stayed beside him.

Nathan glanced again at the crate, pondering still what could be within. "Ezra, what do you say I open it up for you?" he asked. "Might be a nice thing for you to wake up to if I got it out, huh?" Jackson smiled.

This could be just the thing they needed. Open the box and magically Ezra might wake up to see! No more waiting.

Deciding that anything was worth that chance, Nathan drew a knife from its sheath, and pried at the boards. He had the lid lifted in a few moments, and stared down into a nest of crushed excelsior. He felt through the packing, finding something hard within. Curiously, he gathered the packing in his hands, pulling it away. A pattern of squares was revealed. He tossed the stuffing on the floor, perplexed by his discovery.

"A checkerboard, Ezra?" Nathan asked aloud. He tried to get his fingers around the edges of the board, but the weight and close confines of the box worked against him. He carefully tipped the crate on end, letting the heavy board fall onto one hand, then dumped the emptied container into the shaved wood on the floor.

Slowly, brushing the remaining bits of excelsior out of the way, he let the board tip back to cover the little table. The board was a beauty – white and rose marble forming the playing surface, set in a frame of a darker shade of the same stone. Jackson ran his hand along the polished frame, then rested one palm against the playing surface.

"Pretty impressive checkerboard," Jackson commented, wondering why Ezra would want such a thing. Nathan expected to at least find checkers, too, but the box was now empty.

As he ran one finger along the edge, he found two letters engraved in each corner – NJ. "Wonder what NJ is supposed to mean," Nathan softly spoke, and then he paused in wonder.

"Not just a checkerboard," he whispered, his gaze straying from the magnificent board to look at the sick man. "It's a chessboard, ain't it? Ezra…" he started. "Ezra… how?" And his glance dropped to the carved letters again, his own initials. His finger traced the letters, channeled into lovely marble.

Nathan didn't know what to say. It had been two years since he'd shown Ezra the chess pieces – items that Jackson had been carving from pale pinewood and rich mahogany, illustrating the people he had known in his life. Two years since Ezra stated that he'd like to play a game with the finished set. Two years as Nathan finished the carving, pausing far too often to tend to other activities. God, there were times when Nathan was so eager to complete it. But he'd been slow and careful, diligent in his work. The pieces would be perfect.

How had Ezra known that the set was finally complete?

He pulled a rag from the stack near Ezra's bed and ran it across the surface of the board, carefully dusting and polishing, bringing a luster to the marble. It was a pretty piece and would have cost a pretty penny.

"Why?" Nathan asked softly, marveling at the board.

Ezra offered only garbled words, that might have been, "fight, you'll see" or perhaps "fricassee".

He watched Ezra for a moment longer, still fighting. He didn't seem to be tossing quite as much. Glancing to the door, Nathan paused, as if he expected someone to come in. The stairway was quiet and Ezra said nothing outside senseless mutterings.

Slowly, Nathan stood and strode across the room. He pulled a wooden box from under a cabinet and removed two cloth bags.

"They're all finished now," Nathan explained to his patient. "I know they were only partly done when you saw 'em. Took me longer than I thought."

He opened one bag and removed the dark pieces – King and Queen that resembled his parents – young and strong. Then the shaman bishops – one based on Benjamin, a wise old slave he'd known – the other was Nan, a woman who'd taught him the healing arts.

The next pieces were the knights, one warrior rode a zebra, the other an antelope. They'd been fellow stretcher-bearers during the war – brave men who rescued wounded Yankees from the battlefield, bringing them to safety.

Then came the great pyramid of Giza and the Leptis Magna rooks. Magnificent buildings from wondrous settings.

The pawns followed – familiar dark faces, men and women who'd peopled his life – his sisters and other fellow slaves, all dressed like African warriors. His sisters were children still, forever frozen as he'd last seen them, but fierce and ready for a fight.

Black faces that looked human – without the buffoonish eyes, swollen lips and huge white teeth that usually accompanied the portrayal of anyone from his race.

He set the pieces in their places on the far side of the board. He recalled their names, the tones of voices, the way they laughed – all voices sound different when they laugh. He paused at the last pawn as he looked at his own image as a warrior. He let himself smile at that conceit and set it among its siblings, protecting them.

From the second pack, the white pieces appeared. President and Mary Todd Lincoln were first on the board, then bishops: Father Antonio and Reverend Grady - one who'd hid him after his escape, the other was the preacher that had visited the plantation. Following were the knights: a surgeon and a captain on horseback – fine men who'd treated him well during his days in the army. The next pieces were the bastion and the tower rooks.

He paused and looked to the doorway before he continued. No one came. The place was safe for the pawns. He handled them slowly and carefully. They'd come out better than he'd expected. His earliest pieces showed his lack of experience. The features had been a bit crude, the proportions not quite right, but by the time he'd reached these final eight pieces, he'd found a certain brilliance.

The pawns were made in the same proportions as the major pieces, but were crouched down, as if to spring into battle. The first figure out of the bag was, appropriately, Chris Larabee, his face set to a scowl, his hands clenching his Yellowboy rifle. He looked fierce and determined, ready to protect his ranks. Nathan carefully set the leader of their group before the King's Rook.

Vin was next, his long hair carefully carved about his shoulders, his mare's leg in one hand, his familiar spyglass in the other. His eyes were narrowed as if seeking something in the distance.

After Vin came Little Billy Travis – looking pleased as punch and carrying a slingshot. He, like Nathan's sisters, stood to his full height.

Buck came after, looking sly and smiling beneath his mustache. JD was placed beside his mentor, wearing his bowler and carrying his Colts.

Next was Josiah, looking terrible and amused at the same time, carrying a Bible under one arm as he hefted his Schofield with the other.

Nathan found his own piece, and smiled that he was represented on both sides. This was his own life, after all, and he knew that he could desert neither his past nor present companions. He carried his knives on his back, one hand raised and ready to reach for a weapon. In the other hand, he held his medical bag.

He liked to be on the winning side, and this was one way to assure it. He'd win no matter what. His eyes strayed to the man in the bed again. "We'll win this one," he promised.

Ezra responded by turning his head and gasping out, "cheats horribly", or it may have been "cheese doodley".

The final piece was found after a moment's fumbling in the bag. Nathan carefully retrieved the gambler's pawn. It was the last piece he'd finished – had probably gotten to the bottom of the bag as pieces were polished and shuffled about. He held the wooden conman in the palm of his hand as his eyes stayed on the patient.

Ezra looked like hell, wasted and pale except for the flush of color at his cheeks; his eyes were sunken, his hair matted. His mouth formed words that no one could understand, muted and mumbled and half-silenced.

The wooden piece, on the other hand, grinned cheekily. It showed off a fleck of gold imbedded in his teeth, carrying a deck of cards in one hand, his Colt in the other and a Remington at his hip. The carving looked so vital, ready to jump to his feet and to run into battle – so unlike the present state of man it'd been modeled after.

With a sigh, Nathan placed the piece at the last empty space, before the Queen's Rook. The pieces looked perfect on the chessboard. The marble set off the rich tones of the wood, making it seem to glow.

Nathan shook his head, and muttered, "Why?" again.

This was obviously an expensive board – far more valuable than these simple woodcarvings. He paused as he recalled how Ezra had insisted that the chess set would be very expensive when complete – worth at least $100, possibly a lot more. Certainly, he was wrong.

Nathan recalled Ezra's smugness as he calculated the worth of such a set. Nathan had been surprised, pride had swollen in his chest. Something he created could be worth that much? It seemed impossible.

 _"Never sell it,"_ Ezra had told him. And the chess set wasn't mentioned it again.

Jackson had kept its existence secret – more out of habit than anything. At times, he yearned to show off the pieces, but the right moment never came and he'd become used to stashing them away, working in secret. He had a niggling fear that the others might not appreciate it – being turned into pawns. Ezra had stated differently, but….

The last piece had been finished for almost a month. Nathan had spent the last weeks oiling and polishing them – and not knowing what to do with them – not knowing if the time was right to finally display his masterwork. After spending nearly a decade carving the figures – he didn't know how to go about using them as they were meant to be.

How had Ezra known they were finished?

Nathan watched Ezra breathe. He seemed to be struggling less, quieting, yet the man continued to mutter words that Nathan could almost understand yet fail to grasp. Certainly, he was getting better.

 _He'd wait a year,_ Nathan recalled. Ezra had told him that he was willing to wait a year to play a game with Nathan's chess pieces. It had surprised Nathan. Could the cardsharp remain in Four Corners for a full year? Now, it seemed silly to doubt such a thing. Ezra had stayed; he had waited. And one year stretched into two.

Nathan crossed his arms and smiled at the marble chessboard, covered with his intricately carved pieces. It was a wonder to behold, the sort of thing a rich man might possess – but there it was, the story of his life, carved in wood and set against beautiful stone – in his crude clinic. The marble reflected the pieces, doubling them.

Still, the question was - why? Why had Ezra gone to the trouble and expense of ordering the custom-made chessboard? What was the purpose behind it? Everything the conman did had a purpose. Was it meant to be payment for something?

And Nathan shifted in his seat, where he'd been sitting for hours … for days.

Or was it just meant as an act of friendship.

"Care to tell me, Ezra? You mind waking and letting me know?"

Maybe, just maybe, the board was given as a bribe - so that Jackson would take his finished pieces out of hiding, let them be seen, and allow the gambler a chance at a game. Ezra did love games.

It would have been perfect if Ezra were to awaken now. Just open his eyes and see the chessboard, all set up and ready.

"It's time for that game, Ezra," Nathan said hopefully. "What do you say about that? You've been waiting a long time. It's ready now. I'm ready."

But Ezra made no sign of coming around. He might have muttered "hellacious headache," but it also might have been "Delicious hake cake."

Nathan picked up the cloth, wringing it out and using it to daub at Ezra's face. Standish was getting better, Nathan was sure of it.

"I'll wait," Nathan promised. "I can be patient, too." He rested the cloth on Ezra's forehead, willing the cool water to take away some of the heat.

Another glance at the board disquieted him. Furtively, Nathan leaned toward the board and rearranged the pawns on the left side of the board, moving them about so that Ezra's piece wasn't left alone on one end. He tucked it between Josiah's and his own doppelganger.

 _There,_ he thought. _That's better._

He returned his attention to the bed, knowing it was only a matter of time before Ezra awoke – he always did, after all. Just give him some time to recuperate and he'd be back with them again.

"I'll wait," Nathan repeated, and waited.

 **THE END**

TBC in "A Curious Game"


	3. Game's in Play

_RATING: PG  
CATEGORY: Challenge - OW  
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Chris, Nathan, Ezra and Josiah  
DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
NOTE: This is a sequel to __A Gift of Patience_ _, which is a sequel to_ _The Winning Side_ _... Good Lord, it's another series  
SUMMARY: Ezra recovers from the incident in A Gift of Patience and finally gets to play that game  
DATE: originally posted October 26, 2004_

 **A Game of Chess III: The Game's in Play**  
 _By NotTasha_

* * *

Chris Larabee moved easily down the November street, enjoying the cool weather and the signs of autumn all around him. The crisp air let him feel easier – better than he had in days. _God, it actually felt good to be alive!_ A few stray leaves tumbled in the breeze and the signs of harvest crowded the storefronts. _Yeah,_ he was feeling better, but his improving mood, he admitted, had nothing to do with the quality of the weather.

He paused when he reached the livery and looked up toward Nathan's clinic. The last few days had been wretched – every trip up those stairs had only brought him sorrow. But things had changed last evening. Chris allowed himself a smile at that thought.

After three days, Standish had awakened. Another day added, and Nathan had declared that he was through the worst of it.

As Chris gazed up the stairway, he was surprised to see the healer there, seated with his back against the balcony's railing. Nathan, relaxing outside the clinic, was reason enough to feel even better – it meant that Ezra was able to be without the healer's constant supervision.

 _Ah, it was a good day, indeed._

Of course, Larabee reflected, Josiah's probably in there right now, watching over their brother. Ezra would have no privacy for a while. Not after what had happened to him, when the rest of them let their guards down.

It still ate at the gunslinger - tore at him. They'd gotten too sure of themselves and had forgotten that the game wasn't over – that losses were still possible – penalties to be wrought.

He'd made a mistake. He'd allowed Ezra to be captured and nearly killed, all due to his overconfidence. "Won't happen again," Chris promised softly. "Won't forget it."

Nathan, feeling Larabee's gaze upon him, turned, looked down the stairs, and nodded toward the gunslinger inviting him up. Larabee needed no further coaxing.

He climbed the too rickety stairs, wondering again why Nathan never sought to move his quarters. _It's a damn fool place to be keeping sick people_ , Chris thought as he remembered how they carried Ezra up these stairs just a few days earlier – bloody, bruised, broken and already sick with fever.

Nathan leaned back far enough to watch Larabee make his way up and smiled. "You enjoyin' the day?" Jackson asked.

Chris suddenly caught sight of Josiah, leaning against the outside wall of the clinic. "Gettin' better and better," Chris admitted, realizing that if they were leaving Ezra to his own devices, then Standish must truly be on the road to recovery.

Josiah nodded and stated a soft, "Good morning, Chris."

The gunslinger let out a short chuckle, little more then a, "heh," when he took his final step to reach the upper floor and spotted the third figure on the balcony.

Ezra sat, nestled in blankets and ensconced in his rocking chair, beside Josiah. Standish gave Larabee a pointed glance as he pulled the coverings close. "Mr. Larabee," he drawled slowly.

Larabee tilted his head as he leaned against the railing, regarding the pale and bruised man whose splinted arm rested in a sling at his chest. "You look like hell, Ezra," Chris commented dryly.

"As do you," Ezra responded. "But I'm on the mend." His good hand found its way loose of the blankets and it gestured as he continued. "I'm afraid there's little to be done for you."

"Hmmm," Chris snorted.

Since they'd freed Ezra from that gang of desperados, four days ago, Nathan had fretted and fussed, distressed by their friend's condition and his fevered mutterings. It was only two days ago that Standish finally started coming around and speaking intelligibly - only yesterday that he truly seemed to be getting better. Still, Jackson had insisted that Standish be kept quiet and immobile for the next few days.

"See you changed your mind about keepin' him in bed," Larabee commented.

Josiah chuckled and Nathan scowled.

"I was ready for some air," Ezra responded for them. "And better light." With that, the gambler leaned forward, and extended a hand to move something on the table in front of him.

Chris tsked and shook his head as he moved closer to the trio. He came to a dead stop and peered in interest at what sat in their center - a chessboard of white and rose marble and a chess set unlike any he'd ever seen before. Half the pieces were carved of mahogany, depicting African warriors – the other, of a pale wood, seemed to represent figures from the War and the West. Ezra played the dark figures while Nathan commanded the light.

Chris squinted at the nearest pawn and let loose a slow breath. "What the…" he started as he reached for the pawn that sort-of resembled himself.

"Do _NOT_ touch the pieces in play!" Ezra spat out, giving him a vicious glare in spite of his bloodshot and tired-looking eyes.

Larabee stilled his hand, letting it hover over the piece and looked to Nathan who smirked. "Let it alone," Jackson chided.

Leaving his hand over the piece for a moment longer, Larabee scowled and squatted down. Now, eye level to the piece, there was no doubting it – the piece was carved to look like him. Hell, it was even scowling. He glanced from Nathan to Ezra – who weren't paying him any attention – then to Josiah who grinned, showing his big white teeth.

Chris poked out a finger, wanting to just turn the piece to see more of it, but instantly he received reprimands.

"The piece is in play!" Ezra exclaimed, his voice dripping with distain, glancing to Josiah for support. "Incredible, the man can't even follow one simple rule of the game."

"Leave it," Nathan commanded, as one might discipline a dog that was after one's supper. "Let it alone."

Chagrinned, Chris straightened, then snagged another pawn that stood captured before Ezra. He shot Ezra a look that stated he'd put up with no further rebukes. Ezra gave him a haughty expression, but said nothing.

 _Damn him,_ Chris thought, wondering how he'd allowed these people to order him around.

He immediately recognized who was depicted in pale wood: long hair, sawed off Winchester, spyglass, obviously decaying jacket.

"It's Vin," he uttered.

Ezra leaned back in his chair and stated, "It's a pawn - one of my captured pawns and I request that you return it." And he let loose a slow breath as he closed his eyes.

Nathan gave Ezra a probing look as Josiah patted him gently on the shoulder. "You ready to go back in now, son?" Sanchez asked sincerely.

"Not just yet," Ezra responded. "A moment or two more… please."

Chris' gaze flicked between the three men, wondering if something should be done, but neither Josiah nor Nathan made any further move regarding Ezra, so he continued the scrutiny of the pawn in his hand.

"This is amazing," Larabee murmured. Vin's eyes seem to narrow at some distant sight. His hand gripped the spyglass as if he meant to lift it to his face. The seams of his jacket were almost falling to pieces before his eyes. "Incredible."

Ducking his head, Nathan murmured, "Oh, it's nothing really." And he grasped JD, squeezing his head along the brim of his bowler, and moved him forward to take out a crouching warrior on Ezra's side. "Just something… I… ah…Well, it's nothing."

"Hardly," Ezra returned.

"They're works of art," Josiah added, nodding to Nathan. "And there's the artist. And he kept all this secret for so long." And he gave his old friend an appraising look.

Astounded, Chris turned to Nathan and asked, "You carved all of these?"

"Yeah, well…" Nathan responded, scratching at the back of his neck as he placed the taken pawn on his side. "Not the board," he amended quickly. "Ezra got that."

And Josiah and Chris both looked at Standish in disbelief. Ezra yawned and said, "I paid little for it. I found a patsy who'd make anything. Cost me a pittance and no effort at all on my part."

Jackson gave Ezra a sharp look, but Ezra cut him off before he could speak.

"He's trying to divert your attention," Standish gestured again with his good hand, waving toward Nathan. "He's the master carver and deserves all your acclaim."

"Master carver?" Nathan repeated. "Now, I wouldn't say that!"

"I would," Chris returned.

"Me, too," Josiah agreed. "And I've seen some mighty fine works of art, Nathan. What you have here is something incredible, unbelievable."

Nathan glanced down at his work, seeing the faces of all those people – all the important people of his life.

"It must have taken some time," Chris stated.

"A lifetime," Ezra commented softly, closing his eyes.

Chris set down the figure of Vin and picked up the image of Buck from the little captured group in front of Ezra. The southerner peeled open an eye and quirked an eyebrow at him, looking annoyed. "Mr. Larabee…" he started.

"Not in play…" Larabee said, mockingly as he waggled Buck at Ezra.

Ezra lifted a lip in irritation.

Buck was delightfully realized. The image smirked. There was something playful about his stance, as if he were ready to leap forward to tackle one of his brothers, yet his grip on his weapon was deadly, as if he had no problems with using it if the time came. Larabee glanced at the other pieces in front of Ezra, noting that little Billy Travis seemed to be among them.

Standish gave up his glare on Larabee and looked toward Josiah. "My turn?" he asked.

"Yup," Josiah responded. When Ezra drew in a sharp breath as he sat forward, Josiah told him, "Just tell me what you want to move and I'll take care of it."

With a reluctant sigh, Ezra rocked back in his chair. "Perhaps it would be for the best."

Still examining Wilmington in his palm, Chris suggested, "Take out my piece next."

"Never thought I'd hear the man so eager to be removed from play," Ezra commented wryly.

"Come on. I want to see it."

"The move would not be wise at this moment," Ezra stated. "I have you protecting half my field."

"Do it anyway," Larabee growled.

Ezra grinned and some color seemed to come back to his cheeks. "Patience, Mr. Larabee. Good things come to those who wait." He cleared his throat and requested, "Josiah, would you please move Miz Lizzy to Pastor Grady?"

Josiah's hand hesitated over the figure of a black woman warrior, crouching without a weapon, and looked to Nathan for confirmation. The healer nodded and Sanchez moved the piece as instructed, capturing the figure of a fat priest. He settled the bishop among the other pieces that Ezra had already managed to remove.

"And tell Mr. Larabee to keep his mitts off my detainees," Ezra commented as Larabee reached for the latest removed piece.

Josiah guffawed and Chris scowled. Nathan grinned at both of them.

"They ain't in play," Chris grumbled.

"Just the same…" Ezra responded with a yawn, closing his eyes again and snuggling into his comforters. "The game is still in progress. One must wait."

Chris crossed his arms over his chest and glanced over at Nathan's captured pieces. The healer put his hands protectively over the assemblage and shook his head.

 _Damn it_ , Chris thought as he ground his teeth _. I don't get no respect._

Nathan regarded the board and edged JD forward again. The boy sheriff was taken out by Ezra's next move, removed by another pawn, an annoyed-looking warrior named Rodney who carried a spear.

Josiah's figure took out Rodney, and Sanchez' double was in turn taken away by a knight on a zebra – going by the name of John. Ezra sunk further into his chair at every turn, watching the game through hooded eyes and instructing Josiah with a soft, sleepy voice.

Finally, after Nathan went after one of Ezra's rooks, Ezra slipped into sleep, snoring ever so softly as he nestled into his blankets.

The three men were quiet, watching Ezra slump further.

"He gonna be alright?" Chris asked candidly as he picked up the captured figure of JD and held it carefully in his hands. _Damn,_ the hat was so perfectly carved, he could see the hole where a bullet had been sent through it.

Nathan regarded the sleeping man. Jackson would have preferred to keep Ezra a'bed for another day, but Ezra had finagled a promise to let him out into the fresh air for the game. A little sunlight and air would be good for him, Nathan had decided. So, after sending Josiah to fetch Ezra's rocking chair, they'd managed to move Ezra out only a short time ago.

"He's gonna be fine," Jackson promised. "Just needs to rest up a bit more. It'll take some time, but he'll be okay. That bullet wound is finally healing proper. His arm'll have to be in that splint for a while though. Hope he can be patient enough to let it heal straight." Nathan shrugged as he stood. "But, right now, we just gotta get him inside. Figure he won't wake."

And Josiah laughed again, long and hard. Chris realized how good it was to hear Josiah laugh like that. "That boy won't wake even if cannons were thundering down these streets," the big man stated gleefully.

Chris stepped back, watching as the healer and the preacher got into position, then carefully lifted the slumbering man, blankets and all, from the chair. With infinite care, they adjusted their grips, mindful of the healing wounds, supporting the broken arm, letting Ezra's head rest on Josiah's shoulder, and then they made their way toward the clinic.

Larabee moved around them, opening the door and then reaching the bed so that he could straighten the sheets and fix the pillows. They had Ezra settled in bed in no time at all.

Then, was he was comfortably situated, they filed out of the room and back onto the balcony. Nathan sat down in Ezra's chair and sighed. Rocking back, Jackson wondered why he didn't keep a rocker in his clinic. Lord, it was worlds better than his regular chair.

Josiah leaned against the railing, breathing in the crisp autumn air and Chris returned to his position beside the table and the elegant chess set. His hand moved toward his own pawn.

"Leave it," Josiah growled, sounding too much like a watchdog, as he fixed a glare on Larabee.

"Game's over," Larabee declared.

"Not by a long shot," Nathan shot back. "We're finishing it as soon as that fool wakes up again."

Larabee scowled and declared, "It's not as if it'll make any difference if I touch one of them."

"Game's still in play," Nathan declared. He rocked back, regarding the pieces from this new point of view.

He'd been surprised when Ezra declared that he wanted to play the dark pieces, but now he thought he understood. From this seat he could see the faces of the white army – there was Chris and Josiah, Nathan and Ezra still looking at him, still fighting.

"The game's still in play," Nathan repeated softly and closed his eyes as he rocked.

 **THE END**


	4. Curious Game

_RATING: PG  
CATEGORY: Challenge - OW  
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Nathan and Ezra with a bit of Buck  
DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp, TNN, ShowtimeExtreme. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
NOTE: August 2005 (the Defenestration Challenge) - offered by MonicaM - Word of the Day - __Defenestration_ _: n: a throwing of a person or thing out of a window. So let's hurl one, or more, of the guys out of a window. Maybe it's even one of the others who does the hurling. Bonus points for actually using the word defenestration and my other new favorite word,_ _frigorific_ _(adj: causing cold, chilling) in the story. Okay, that was Monica. I also found flibbertigibbet and parlay on two other Word of the Day calendars. They're in here too.  
SUMMARY: Nathan has had a bad day.  
DATE: Originally posted August 18, 2005_

 **A Game of Chess IV: A Curious Game**  
 _By NotTasha_

* * *

He felt like crap. He ached and was tired – so damn tired. Somehow he'd ended up sleeping on his stomach – not his normal position. No wonder he felt odd. He shifted his position, and instantly sucked in his breath as the pain stabbed through him – like razorblades against his back.

 _Oh God…._

"Easy now. Try not to move."

Sound advice. He heeded it and became absolutely still, trying to understand the situation. Around him, familiar sounds. He was in town, no doubt. Where? Slowly, he opened his eyes to a well-known space – and blinked.

 _In the clinic. Yes, of course, where else? How could I have fallen asleep? Who's hurt? Who needs tending? Gotta get up!_

He pressed his hands against the mattress and tried to shove himself upright, but the pain returned, amplified – first the ripping horrible stinging across his back, followed by the sensation of a pick-axe through the head.

He collapsed on his stomach with a grunt.

"No more of that," a voice sounded beside him. "Nathan, be still."

He squeezed his eyes shut. The pain was so intense, it brought tears. A moment passed as he tried to overcome the sensation, then he tried to blink clear his vision. As he floundered on his belly, he turned his head and a face formed in front of him.

"Nathan?" it queried.

"I'm fine," Nathan growled. He sucked in a breath and managed with more conviction. "Fine - I'm fine."

"Thank the Lord." Unable to clearly see his companion, Nathan had no doubts about who was beside him. He'd never mistake that southern accent.

 _Oh Gawd, this is hell._

Jackson gasped, trying to overcome the pain, trying to come to grips with it. Keeping still seemed to help considerably. His back only buzzed with pain instead of screaming from it. The pounding in his brain lessened as he let his head rest on his arm.

"I'm hurt," he stated, amazed.

"What gave you that idea?" Ezra returned dryly. He quickly continued with, "A rap on the head and a series of cuts on your back. It would be best if you stayed still."

"That your medical advice?" Nathan asked with a small chuckle.

"Take it for what it's worth," Ezra replied. "I've not been in the exact position as you, but I've known similar. Rather reminiscent of a time I spent in Kansas."

Nathan sighed. "How long?"

"A little less than a year during one stretch." He heard Ezra moving something about on the table nearby. "The end of that stay was unbearable. Still… there were things…"

"Ezra, I meant how long have I been here?"

"Two days," Ezra responded. "Or, if you want to be more accurate, I could say it's been closer to a day and a half, but sayin' 'two days' is so much easier, plus it makes your condition sound so much more severe. Honestly, your stay has been closer to a day-and-three-fifths, but that would be splitin' hairs."

"Ezra…" Nathan muttered, exasperated.

"Yes, sir."

"What happened?"

"I finished reading Pilgrim's Progress." He said, touching a book on the table. "It passed the time. Much of it is utterly laughable. To think that one might build a moral…"

"Ezra… what happened TO ME!"

"Well…" Ezra began, sitting back. "Funny you should ask, for there hangs quite a tale. Would you like a cool drink before I commence? Water?"

As much as Nathan wanted to get to the bottom of this, his thirst prevailed. Tentatively, he nodded, and slowly pressed himself upward, careful of his painful back and thundering head. Lord, he hadn't felt so low since he'd been 'disciplined' on the plantation. God, he thought he'd never feel that way again.

He hissed and moved cautiously, not allowing the pain to overcome him. At least, he managed to prop himself a few inches off the bed.

A glass was placed before his face, and he grasped it one hand. He drank, careful not to tip his head too far. His grip felt weak, as if he couldn't keep a grasp on the glass, but the cup seemed to follow him, making it easy to drink.

Every movement jarred his aching back – every change in position brought new pain to his head. _Good God, almighty!_ The water was quickly finished, and the glass disappeared. He allowed himself to settle again on the mattress.

He sighed, amazed at how tired he felt from the simple exercise.

"You'll note," his companion stated. "That I hid no unseemly medications in that glass. When I offer a man water, that is exactly what he receives."

Nathan smiled, imagining Ezra's shudder of revulsion.

"I would not trick you with a sneak attack of the noxious brew!"

"Ezra," Nathan started and rested his chin on one hand. "I'd expect nothing less from you." He winced and sighed. "Still, I might be wantin' some of that ' _noxious brew'_."

"Of course. Of course!" Ezra started to stand. "Just a moment and I'll..."

"Not now. Gotta be clearheaded for a moment. I want to know. Tell me. What happened to me?"

"A defenestration."

Nathan frowned, not knowing if he'd just misheard, or if he just didn't understand. "Say again?" he tried.

"Defenestration!" Ezra happily complied, settling himself in the chair again.

Blowing out a breath, Nathan realized that this wouldn't be easy. "Could you just tell me how I got hurt?" he asked, wriggling in an attempt to get comfortable, but finding he could do little without his back forcing him to stillness.

Ezra slowly drawled, "Well… let me see."

Nathan squinted, finding his vision clearing. Ezra leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully drew a thumb across his bottom lip. Beside him, something cluttered the small table – bottles? Nathan couldn't make it out.

"It started thusly," Ezra told him. "I was in the saloon, minding my own business." He gave Nathan a pointed look. "Of course."

"Of course," Nathan echoed.

"…When a bit of an imbroglio broke out. It wasn't much at first. One man had trodden on another's toes. I believe they were friends, but they were well into their cups. Even compatriots can come to blows. It's natural, I suppose. One does get on another's nerves from time to time."

"Yeah, one does," Nathan agreed.

"It can't be helped. I once knew two miners who regularly beat each other to near-pulps, but they loved each other like brothers. It was like a game to them, I reckon - and a curious one at that. If you were to …"

"Ezra?"

"Yes, Mr. Jackson."

"Can you get back to what happened to me?"

"Ah yes, of course. Well, as I said, one man squashed the foot of another. The one with the damaged digits took offence and shoved the toe-treader, who responded in kind. He took a running start and collided with the other, sending him careening into the table beside theirs."

Ezra fiddled with the objects beside him on the table. "The adjoining table was upset, as were those sitting around it. And, as it's bound to happen, an all-out brawl erupted in the saloon as others joined in."

"You?"

"Me?"

"You joined in?"

"I swear on my sainted mother's grave that I never threw a punch." Ezra raised an eyebrow as Nathan squinted at him. "Figure of speech," he added quickly.

"Ezra, what did you do?"

"My hand to God, I abstained from physical violence. I did my best to avoid the brawl and, wanting to stay on the straight and narrow, did nothing more than provide a commentary on the happenings. I parlayed while others tried to tenderize others with their fists."

"Yeah? Never threw a punch?"

"I was beyond reproach." He held up his hands. "My hands are clean. You, conversely, are an altogether different story. I never would have suspected you as the type to enter such a fracas willingly. To think, you were free and clear of the matter, yet you leapt in like a country boy into the miller's pond."

"How?" Nathan responded, getting tired of Ezra's flibbertigibbet tale-telling.

"How now?"

"Dang it, Ezra, how did I get messed up in it?"

"OH! You'd been passing by when you noted the commotion with the establishment. Shortsighted man that you are, you joined in."

"I just started fighting?" Nathan asked.

"I was utterly surprised," Ezra drawled. "Apparently, you decided to assist some poor sod who'd gotten himself in a pickle." Ezra laughed. "Three men were on him. The fool deserved it, no doubt." Ezra pulled his flask from a pocket. "You tried to intercede."

"And you didn't?" Nathan asked.

"I was occupied," Ezra responded, lifting the flask in salute and taking a swig.

"By standin' aside and making commentary."

Ezra grinned at him, showing off his gold tooth. "You, filled with indignant fervor, dove right into the struggle, slinging off the attackers in your attempt to assist the beleaguered ninny." Ezra shrugged. "The idiot was useless in providing assistance, so it was all up to you. Unfortunately, the combatants grabbed hold of your person and… flung you."

Nathan groaned.

Replacing the stopper on the flask, Ezra continued, "They hurled you through the window of the saloon – a defenestration." He buffed his silver container against his lapel, and took a moment to look at his reflection in it. He smiled at himself before returning the vessel to his pocket. "It took three of them to lift you, and you were thrashing about quite a bit. They must have been uncommonly strong for you are nearly as weighty as our Mr. Sanchez. Several of our compatriots know this well. It's not easy to carry a man as tall as yourself, especially when negotiating that stairway. Have you ever considered moving your clinic?"

"Ezra…"

"Honestly, it would be best for everyone. I swear, every time someone needs to move the infirmed, one is apt to break something."

"Would you…"

"Lordy, I recall the last time Mr. Sanchez needed your services, I think half of our crew ended up in this room due to strained backs and…"

"Get on with it!"

Standish shrugged. "The sound of you crashing through the window was like a thousand shattering drinking glasses. You should have heard Inez scream. Replacing the pane would come at great cost, you see - a great pain monetarily."

"Yeah, I see."

Ezra chuckled, and leaned toward the small table beside him. In an almost nervous action, he moved some of the items about - first one, than another - before returning to a casual position in the chair. "You landed with a crash on the boardwalk and rolled directly into the street. Pedestrians squealed like hogs in November, and a wagon was nearly overturned as the driver fought to keep his team from trampling you. You caused quite a disturbance. I believe you scared a year or two off of Mr. Stoker in the process. If he hadn't been so attentive at his seat on the wagon, you'd be flatter than a pancake right now."

Nathan sighed, letting his head settle heavily on his arm. He closed his eyes.

Without a response from Jackson, Ezra went on. "Mr. Sanchez and the rest of our coworkers appeared almost immediately. You should have heard our preacher bellow! One would think that a man of the cloth would be more… discreet. The combatants fled like frightened hares."

Jackson sighed, listening to the soft 'thunk' as Ezra returned to fussing about with whatever was on the table. "Mr. Larabee was all but silent as he surveyed the ruin. And silence, in that man, is more dangerous than when he is roaring."

It was quiet for a moment, and even the soft thumping stopped. Nathan breathed in the quiet.

"Nathan? Are you all right?"

Jackson opened his eyes to find Ezra hovering over him, asking, "Are you certain you wouldn't want something for the pain?"

"I'm just waitin' for you to finish. Figured it'd go faster without me interrupting."

Ezra grinned widely. "Oh, if all my audiences might have the same opinion. Shall I continue?"

"Please…"

"Very well." And Standish settled again in his chair. "The participants in the tussle had managed to disappear through the rear door. The other occupants of the saloon liquidated, leaving only myself behind. Mr. Dunne and Mr. Larabee went in pursuit. Several of these men were rounded up and ensconced in our jailhouse." Ezra cocked his head. "You were in a sorry state. Your head must have struck the sill on your exit because you were dead to the world, and the glass had done great work on your back." He paused, and sincerely stated, "I'm sorry, but I believe your scars have multiplied."

"Seems that way," Nathan muttered, carefully moving his shoulders, feeling the cuts and scrapes. "Who… who tended it?"

"Josiah and Vin," Ezra answered. "They seem to have learned much from the master."

Nathan sighed. "Was it real serious?" he asked carefully.

"I have no idea. I was otherwise occupied," Ezra uttered quickly. "You see, many of the poker tables had been overturned and someone needed to look after the lost cash. By the time I'd taken care of myself, they'd scooped you up and were taking you away to the clinic. There was nothin' I could do for you in any case, so my participation was of no consequence. Still, it was interesting to watch them negotiate you at the stairway." And he chuckled merrily.

"So, what are you doin' here?" Nathan asked plainly.

"Takin' my turn at waitin' for you to wake up," Ezra responded, leaning toward the table to shift the items about a bit more.

Nathan squinted and then smiled when his vision cleared enough for him to recognize the objects - the chess set. Nathan knew the curve of every piece, carved from pinewood and mahogany. He knew every face, every gesture of the pieces. Even from his position, Jackson could tell that Ezra had his hand on the piece that resembled JD.

Ezra was moving the chessmen, one after the other, in a game where no one seemed to be winning. The pieces were simply dancing about the board in a curious game.

"To sit at your bedside was the least I could do," Ezra continued airily, "After all the times you've done the same for me."

"Thank you," Nathan said softly.

"No need," Ezra returned. "I had nowhere else to go, as Inez shut down the saloon until the window might be replaced. Hopefully the pane will come tomorrow. Luckily, your awakening won't conflict with my return to the saloon."

"Well, thank you anyway," Nathan replied, giving Ezra a sly look.

"As I said, it was nothing." And Ezra shoved himself upright with a groan.

Nathan watched his stiff movements carefully. "You ailin', Ezra?"

Ezra smirked. "Simply been sitting for too long. First it was a long game, and then I took my turn here. Deplorable." He took a moment to straighten, resting his hands on his knees and then smiling at Nathan's concerned glance. "Too much leisure," he commented.

There was the sound of footfalls on the balcony, and then the door was slowly pushed open. Buck stood in the opening with a tray, looking first to Ezra, before changing his gaze to Nathan. Wilmington beamed. "Nate!" he cried, carrying the food tray to the table and setting it down with a clatter. "Lookit you!"

"He's awake," Ezra said unnecessarily, gesturing broadly.

"Yup, sure looks it," Buck responded. "How you're feeling, Doc?"

"None too good," Nathan told him honestly. "Feel like I've been wrung through the wringer and run over rough-shod."

"Well, that's no surprise," Buck said philosophically as he found the chair that Ezra had vacated. "Just dang happy to see you awake." And he gave Ezra a glance. "Ain't we, hoss?"

"But of course. Now, since you have another keeper, Mr. Jackson," Ezra said quickly, moving toward the door. "It's time I departed for a more entertaining locale."

"Hey, Ez," Buck stated. "I brung up your dinner." And he pointed to the tray. "Why don't you sit and eat while me and Nate chat a bit."

"Since Nathan is now awake and undoubtedly hungry, it'd be best served it to him."

With a discontented sigh, Nathan told him, "Ain't exactly up to it just yet, Ezra. Might as well stay."

Ezra wasn't swayed. "Then, I'll tell the others the good news. I believe I have a bottle of wine that might be opened for this occasion. Excuse me while I see the bottle is put in a sufficiently frigorific state. Good day, gentlemen." And with that, the conman slipped through the door, moving quickly as a scalded cat.

Nathan watched the quick departure with concern, then turned to Buck.

"You ever notice," Wilmington started as he shook his head, "His vocabulary gets more expensive the more nervous he becomes?"

"Seems that way," Nathan agreed.

"Tends to meander a bit, too, when he doesn't want to get to the point." Buck sighed. "Figure he hasn't done his penance yet."

"For what?"

"For that damn fight in the saloon," Buck informed him.

"The fight? Did he start it?" Nathan tried.

"Well," Buck started. "Started innocently enough. A couple of wranglers got into a fuss over nothing, but one of them backed into Ezra, and our friend didn't take kindly to that. Whiskey got spilled." And Buck paused, letting that sink in. "Ezra let the man know he wasn't too happy. Words were said."

Nathan shook his head. "Figures," he muttered.

"The whole place was in uproar. I got caught up with a couple of cowpokes, and three fellas were after Ezra. I couldn't get loose to help. They had him pinned up against the wall and was using him as a punching bag 'til you looked in the window. You come runnin' in like some avenging angel."

"I pulled them off of him," Nathan stated, understanding.

"Yeah. Figured you shocked the hell out of those fellas. I mean, there was no doubtin' where our southern boy was from. When they looked up and saw you – they were downright surprised. You got 'em off Ezra, but then they came after you," and Buck pointed a finger at the healer. "They grabbed you and tossed you through the window. You must've hit your head pretty hard somewhere because by the time we got to you, you weren't moving and were bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Is it really bad?" Nathan asked.

Buck gave him a smile. "Bad enough. Lord, I wouldn't want to suffer it. You got cuts all over your back."

Jackson nodded softly, one hand reaching over his shoulder.

"Josiah and Vin saw to you. Figure Josiah's learned plenty, working with you, and Vin's mighty fine at stitching when the mood catches him. I should remember that when my socks need darning."

"I'd like to see his work," Jackson declared.

"We'll getcha a couple of mirrors," Buck told him. "You can check out his stitchin'. They've been keepin' a close eye on you. Seen no infection, so they must've done pretty good. And, hell, now that you're awake, everything is looking up."

Smiling, Nathan agreed. It could have been so much worse. He glanced to the doorway where Ezra had disappeared. "He's hurt?"

"Aside from feelin' guilty as hell for what happened to you? Yeah, he got himself hurt." Buck sat back, tucking his chin to his chest. "While Josiah and Vin was looking after you, and JD and Chris went after the wranglers, I went in to check on Ezra. He was tryin' to get to his feet."

"How bad did they get him?" Nathan asked plaintively, unable to stop being the 'healer'. "I should go check on him?"

"No, you just rest yourself. We're lookin' after him. He was stunned more than anything. I got to him, and he started clawing his way up me like I was a tree, saying how he had to see you – make sure you were all right. I told him Vin and Josiah were takin' care of you, but he can be damn insistent. I had to kinda drag him to the door so he could see. You should've seen his face, Nate, when he got a gander at you. Turned white as a ghost. Couldn't say a word."

"But he's okay?"

"He's plenty sore, but he'll live. They bruised him up real good. Been off his feed. Don't know if that's because of tummy woes or because he's feelin' so low about what happened to you. Figure that'll be cleared up now." Buck paused, then added, "We figured out those fellas were the Barton Boys. Got 'em locked up. Seems they killed a man in Cedar Ridge and another one in Roosterville. Beat those folks to death. They have a habit of endin' anyone who crosses 'em. If you hadn't come along…"

"Yeah," Nathan sighed, and closed his eyes a moment. He couldn't remember any of it, but was glad that he'd decided to make that pass near the saloon when he'd heard the commotion. "He been here long?"

Buck laughed. "The dang fool's hardly left." Wilmington glanced to the table, noting the book that rested on one corner. "Pilgrim's Progress? What's this about? Makin' Thanksgiving dinner?" He ran a finger along the book. "Anyway, Ezra pulled out this chessboard and set up the pieces as soon as he was able to sit up." Wilmington nodded to the disarranged board at his elbow. "We figured he wanted to play a game to pass the time until you awoke." He grinned. "So, Josiah tried to take him up on the offer. He refused. Said that he was merely attempting to 'ascertain the value for sale'. Told us that he could find someone who'd pay good money for it. He wanted to have it at hand if worse came to worst"

Nathan frowned and pressed his face against his arms.

"Been fiddling with it ever since then. Hasn't let any of us touch it. Figured our 'grimy mitts' would ruin the grain."

"He wouldn't sell it," Nathan said tiredly. "He'd never sell it."

Buck gave Nathan a grin. "Well, I know that and you know that, and maybe even Ezra knows it," Buck stated. "But I think he'd rather be thrown through a window than admit to it."

Nathan laughed, feeling his cut back pulling at that movement, but continuing to laugh in spite of the pain. "Don't know why Ezra does that," the healer chuckled.

Buck shrugged. "Yeah, me neither. He's a curious fella and he likes to keep us guessing. Figure he's always playing some sort of game." Buck waved away this thought. "I don't waste much time ponderin' on it – because I kinda like him and can't see him changing."

Nathan smiled and looked again at the chessboard – noticing for the first time that one of the pieces was off the board. He didn't have to examine it to know which one it was. "Could you set up the board?" Nathan asked. "Get all the pieces in place?"

"Sure," Buck commented. "Now that you're up, we won't have Standish barkin' at us to leave it alone." Wilmington chuckled, straightening the helter-skelter pieces. He shook his head and tsked as he retrieved the one piece that had been removed from play. Nathan could see the flash as the light caught the gold imbedded in the piece.

"He's a curious fella," Buck stated, placing the pawn in the middle of the front row.

"Yeah, he is."

"You want a game?" Buck asked, gesturing.

"Not now," Nathan said softly. "Maybe you could grab that brown bottle on the shelf – third one from the left." He lifted a hand to point. "I'm gonna want to sleep a bit now. That'll help. I'll need a spoon of it in water."

"Sure," Buck responded, getting up to retrieve the bottle. "What about the board? Want me to put it away?"

Nathan shook his head against his arm. "Naw. I want it to be ready for when that damn fool comes back. He owes me a game."

"Figure he owes you a lot more than that," Buck stated as he snagged the bottle from the shelf and picked up a spoon from the counter.

"For helping him in that fight?" Nathan responded. "Oh, he don't owe me for that." He watched as Buck measured out the spoonful into a glass and then added water. "Figure if I can just get him talking for a spell, maybe I can get him to calm down a bit."

"Maybe you should let him keep worryin'," Buck suggested, stirring the glass as he carried it. "Give you a chance to have something to hang over his head for a while."

"You honestly want him to stay like this?" Nathan asked, as he leveraged himself up again. He groaned, longing for the pain reliever in Buck's hand.

With a chuckle, Buck agreed and handed over the glass. "Probably not," he admitted. "The sooner we get him back to normal, the better. Might take some work."

"I guess I'm up for it."

Buck observed Nathan's movements as he drank. "It's a curious game he plays," Buck commented. "Sure you're up to it?"

Nathan shook his head, even as he struggled. "Wouldn't want to miss it," he declared, nodding toward the board.

 **THE END**


	5. For Love Of the Game - part 1

_RATING: PG  
CATEGORY: Challenge - OW  
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Nathan and Ezra  
DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
SUMMARY: Nathan's chess set is missing  
DATE: November 6, 2015_

 **A Game of Chess V: For Love of the Game**  
 _By NotTasha_

* * *

 **** **PART 1:**

Nathan slapped open the batwing doors of the saloon and took a moment to survey the place. The hour was early and only coffee was being served. The few traveling cowboys gave him narrow looks, not knowing him. They looked away after a moment. Those that were familiar with Jackson, watched carefully. When Nathan Jackson looked this anxious, it usually meant that someone was in trouble.

He scanned the room for a moment – and, not seeing what he wanted, he continued through to thud up the stairs that ran up the back wall. When he reached the dim the hallway above, he took a breath and brushed a hand over his chest.

"Be calm," he told himself. "Won't do anyone any good to go about this half-cocked."

He blew out the breath and nodded in resolution. Satisfied, he stepped forward and rapped on the familiar doorway. "Ezra?" he called.

The voice within responded, "Come in, Mr. Jackson."

Nathan opened the door and took a moment to check the neat little room. He looked everywhere, noting every surface. Finally, he let out a disappointed sound and turned to the inhabitant.

Ezra was at his shaving stand, finishing his morning ablutions. He dabbed at his face with a towel as he looked at Jackson in the reflection of his mirror. "Can I help you with anythin'?" he asked, sounding mildly irritated at the interruption. He turned and added, "You seem disappointed."

"I was hoping..." Nathan started and then stopped talking. He made a face and then continued, "I was hoping that you'd borrowed it. I wouldn't be upset or anything."

"Borrowed?" Ezra repeated as he hung the towel on the stand. He picked up the pan of water and carried it to the open window. "I take it that you're missing something important." He tossed the water into the alley without looking.

No shouting followed, so apparently, no one was below.

"I was just hoping it was here," Nathan stated.

"What?" Ezra asked, sounding a little frustrated. "It would definitely help narrow down the possibilities if I knew what you're seeking."

Trying not to look upset, Nathan inhaled slowly before he said, "My chess pieces."

Ezra was fiddling with the pan to get it correctly in place on the shaving stand. He stopped his motions and lifted his gaze to meet Nathan's. He didn't say anything immediately.

"Have you seen them?" Nathan asked. "You didn't borrow them, did you?"

"I haven't and I didn't," Ezra answered, looking at Nathan curiously.

Nathan shook his head worriedly. "I'm sure someone must've borrowed them. I was just hoping…"

"Where did you see them last?"

"In the clinic. I keep them in that box under a cabinet." Nathan made a motion, as if he was reaching for the box.

"You're certain that you put them away properly? They weren't left anywhere else? Perhaps you forgot them on the balcony? Or left them at Josiah's after a rousing game."

"I'm dead certain, Ezra. They're important to me. I know I put them away."

"Perhaps you…"

"I know what I did, Ezra," Jackson said with more snap in his voice than he wanted. "I know I didn't leave them anywhere. The pieces are gone, but the chessboard's still under the box. They should be together."

Ezra nodded, perhaps not noting Nathan's brusqueness. "When was the last time you saw them?"

Nathan sighed. "Three weeks ago, as best as I can recall. It's been a while, but it can't be more than three weeks. I remember playing JD when he was in there with that stomach problem. We've been kind of busy around town since then, so I haven't had the time for a game."

Ezra picked up his hat, settled it on his head and then reached for his jacket. "Let us check out the scene of the crime," he declared and gestured for Nathan to lead the way.

"I don't know, Ezra," Nathan said. "You really think it was stolen?"

"Why would someone take the pieces and leave the board if they just wanted a game?"

Nathan shrugged. "The board's heavy."

"It's because it's not as impressive as the pieces."

"If someone wanted to have a game, they might've just borrowed the pieces and used their own board. It would have been easier."

Ezra frowned. "Have you asked anyone else who might have 'borrowed' it?"

"I can't think of anyone who'd take it without asking."

"No one outside of me?" Standish asked, pulling on the jacket.

With a grimace, Nathan said, "I didn't mean it like that. I just came because…" He lifted a dropped a hand.

Ezra waited a moment, watching. Then he completed, "You thought I might help?"

Nathan nodded, grateful.

Ezra grinned at that. "I do have a devious mind, quite capable of discerning a miscreant's motives. Let's have a look!" He moved past Nathan and into the hallway.

Nathan followed, waiting while Ezra locked the door and immediately turned to the stairs. "I don't want to think someone could've broken in and taken it," he said to Ezra's back.

Ezra kept ahead of him, down the stairs and through the saloon. When they reached the boardwalk, he turned to allow Nathan to catch up with him. "I've told you before," Standish said, "the set is very well made and would be worth a great deal. It's honestly no surprise that someone might want it."

"But no one would understand it," Nathan said under his breath as he came alongside Ezra. "No one knows how much it means to me." He thought about the set. The pieces represented something – someone – in his life. He could feel his heart clenching at the thought that he might never see it again.

They made their way to the livery and up the stairs. Nathan unlocked the door when they reached the clinic.

"Do you always lock the door when you leave?" Ezra asked.

Nathan nodded. "I have a lot of medications in there, drugs that some folks use too freely. I have to keep things secure."

Ezra nodded. "Have you ever returned to the clinic and found the door unlocked?

Nathan shrugged. "Sometimes. I 'spect, if I was in a hurry or forgetful. Sometimes it happens."

"How about in the past three weeks? Especially, if you were sure that the door had been locked when you left earlier."

As they walked into the clinic, Jackson contemplated. "Yeah," he said. "Two Sundays ago." He continued, "I remember heading out for Josiah's service and I could've sworn that I locked up, but when I got back, the door was shut but unlocked. I didn't notice anything missing. I figured I was just wrong."

Ezra nodded. "It's easy enough to pick a lock, if one has the right tools," he said, "It's much harder to lock the door behind you without a key."

Jackson indicated the crate under the cabinet. "I usually have them in there." He pulled out the box, showing that it was empty. "Even the burlap bags are gone." Beneath the empty box, the heavy marble checkerboard still waited

Ezra rubbed his chin. "And do you remember anyone giving unusual attention to the set?"

Nathan shrugged. "Just about everyone who sees it," he explained. "Any time I have it out, people ask about it. I've been careful to put it back when I'm done because," he paused and sighed, "they ask too many questions."

"Did anyone say anything about it recently? Greedy people can't stand to see something so precious and just leave it alone. We're not known for our patience in that respect. Itchy fingers," he said, rubbing his fingers together for emphasis. "I would think someone acted relatively quickly."

"I can't remember anyone," Nathan said. "I haven't had it out in a while. It was just JD and me, and then I put it back when we were done. Before that, it might have been a month since I had it out. Me and Josiah were playin' a game that kept getting interrupted. We had it set up here for a while. Lots of folks saw it then."

"So, that was in mid-July?"

Nathan nodded.

"Did anyone ever offer you money for it?"

"Folks ask how much it'd cost 'em. I tell 'em that it's not for sale."

Ezra made his way to Nathan's desk, found a pad of paper and handed it to him. "Write down the names of everyone who saw it when you had it set up recently, whether or not they asked for a price."

Jackson nodded as he took the pad.

With a vague flip of his hand, Ezra said, "It probably isn't one of our local people. They owe you far too much, but one never knows. Some people just can't help it when they're close to something valuable." He turned and started toward the door. "Meanwhile, I'll be researching who was in town in mid-July and two Sundays ago."

Nathan stared at the pad in his hand.

Standish nodded to the door and smiled a little. "We will find it, I have no doubt."

Nathan was dubious. "It could be a long way off by now. It could be anywhere."

"That set is extraordinary," Ezra told him. "It will not remain in hiding." He touched the brim of his hat and said, "I'd best get started. Good luck." And he slipped through the doorway.

With a sigh, Nathan sat at his table and started thinking.

His mind wandered as he remembered all the time and work he'd put into those carvings – his whole life existed in those pieces of wood. He felt sick thinking they'd been stolen.

If he could just believe that the set had been borrowed, it would be returned soon. If he could just hang onto that belief for a little while longer, he could hope.

But, as he stared at the paper, he knew Ezra was right – the set had been taken.

He to cursed himself, knowing that it had probably happened two weeks ago and he hadn't noticed. The thief was long gone, snatching away the one thing that meant the world to him.

It had taken him years – so many years - to carve them all. Each had taken hours, days, weeks. Nights spent by a fireside. Days spent sitting beside a sickbed. Long hours of work, always in private. He'd prayed over the faces of people he'd lost. He'd pondered and remembered them and put all his memories into each. He'd caressed their faces and held each piece in his hand, as he wished he might hang onto the living person still – just be able to touch each person one more time – to embrace them and thank them for being there for him.

He wanted to cry.

He'd never cried over a mere 'thing' before, but it was like losing the people all over again. He'd never be able to recreate that set. If it was stolen, it was gone forever.

How could they have gone missing without him even noticing? It was as if he was betraying those people from his life. It was as if he'd forgotten about them. He'd promised himself that they would be in his heart always.

And even the row of white pawns – his friends – it was like he'd turned his back on them and hadn't noticed that they'd been taken away.

Nathan could only stare at the blank page for several minutes, seeing nothing.

Finally, not knowing what else he could do, he reached for the pen and inkwell and started thinking.

.

It was late in the day when Ezra returned to the clinic. Nathan lit a lamp as Ezra handed him two pages of names. "See if any of these ring a bell. They were all in town on that Sunday or the Saturday before. This other list has folks who were in town mid-July. The names with checkmarks were here on both occasions. There aren't many."

And Ezra took the pages that Nathan had filled out and found a seat on the bed.

Nathan went through the names Ezra had provided.

"Ruston McAvoy," Nathan said as he pointed to the marked name.

Ezra rubbed a hand on his chin. "There are a couple other names on your list that might prove…"

"McAvoy came in to have a wound stitched. I remember that he kept looking at the chess set, but didn't say a word about it. Kept looking away when I noticed. I didn't put him on my list because, well, he didn't seem interested."

With nod, Ezra said, "Those are the ones you must watch out for the most, the sneaky ones. I tried to get him interested in a game, as my prospects have been rather bleak recently. Sandy-haired fellow with hang-dog eyes, and then tiniest teeth I've ever seen."

"That's the guy. I saw him in town some time later," Nathan stated. "Might have been on that Sunday. I asked him how the wound was healing and if he wanted me to check on it. He acted annoyed, told me that he got someone to remove the stitches for him and he didn't need me to do anything. I thought he was just being… you know…" He paused a moment, and said quietly, "Some folks don't take too kindly to me touching them. They're happy enough to have me fix a problem, but after that they want nothing to do with me."

Ezra said nothing immediately. "Such behavior is unconscionable," he finally stated in a contrite voice. "The act of a base cretin who doesn't deserve your attention. Such thoughtless and selfish acts should not be tolerated."

To that, Nathan smiled a little. "Some folks just need to wise up a bit. They'll figure it out if given a chance and can turn out to be half-way decent if they make the effort."

"Only half-way?" Ezra asked, his face all innocent.

"Depends on the day," Nathan returned.

Ezra nodded to that statement, and tapped on the list. "Now, I'll find out where Ruston McAvoy might have gone after he left town." He patted Nathan on the arm, smiling. "We're on our way, Nathan! Soon we find it!"

And with that, he strode out of the clinic at a determined clip.

Nathan shook his head, muttering, "Sometimes more than half-way."

.7.7.7

When Nathan left his room at the boarding house in the morning, he found Ezra talking to Chris outside of the jail. Standish was holding his horse's reins as the gelding tossed his head repeatedly, jerking him each time.

Ezra was gesturing gracefully with his free hand, in that manner he used when he was trying to convince someone of something. The "P" in his name stood for "persuasive" and it appeared he was using all of his wiles to get Chris to agree to his plan.

Nathan shook his head as he shouldered his bags and went to meet them.

Larabee looked up as Nathan approached. "So, you're headed to Ridge City?" he asked.

Nathan started to speak, but Ezra responded for him. "Mr. McAvoy was heading in that direction when he left town. Said he had business there. We'll be gone for only a day, Mr. Larabee. We'll ask about Mr. Jackson's missing chess set and be on our way. No harm done."

Chris shot Ezra a quick, annoyed look, before returning to Jackson. "You have anything to say on the matter?" he asked.

Nathan responded, "Figure it wouldn't hurt just to ask about it. Ezra told me about Ridge City last night. That's all we know for now."

Chris frowned. "And what if you find it? What do you boys aim to do about it?"

"We're just asking," Jackson responded. "Maybe we can find out where it is."

Ezra nodded, as he reached for his horse's bridle. "Only inquiries at this point," he added. He patted Chaucer's nose and smiled that 'trust me' smile that always got them in trouble. "If McAvoy is wise, he'll know the errors of his ways and give it up."

"And if he's moved on?" Chris asked. "It's been nearly two weeks."

"I doubt that he still has it in his possession," Ezra said. "From what we know about him, he's not the kind to keep fine art. It's probably already sold."

At that, Nathan stiffened a little.

Ezra went on, "We'll be following the trail and see where it leads us. Certainly he showed it to someone in town, trying to sell it. Ridge City is the perfect place to liquidate. It's on the train line and there's plenty of pawnbrokers in town. Some of them are less than savory."

Chris looked from one to another, and then said to Nathan. "You'll wire us." The statement was a demand. "I don't want you two getting in over your heads. Figure out what happened, and then then let us know. Do _not_ try to get it without back-up."

"We're only asking questions," Ezra said again, his expression mild.

"Do not try to take it from anyone," Chris went on, directing his attention on Nathan since it would do no good to harangue Ezra. "Do you have that clear?"

"Of course," Ezra said, gesturing expansively. "We'll inform you immediately. As soon as we know anythin'."

"We'll let you know," Jackson pledged.

And apparently Nathan's response was the one he accepted. Larabee said, "You'll be back tomorrow?"

"Most likely," Ezra replied. "Unless we need to remain out longer."

Larabee was about to respond to Ezra's non-answer when Jackson said, "We'll be back tomorrow. Doc Meer is in town for the week, and I've already spoken to him. He can keep an eye on any emergencies while I'm gone."

Chris gave a curt nod and let them go.

Ezra smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary and picked up his bags.

Nathan heard Chris grumble as he headed to the livery to retrieve his horse.

 **TBC**

 _I'm sure everything is going to be okay_


	6. For Love of the Game - part 2

**PART 2:**

When they reached Ridge City, they started asking questions, making their way through the pawnshops. They stopped at Hawley Brothers Pawn, a shop filled with all manner of useful things. On another day, Nathan might have spent some time going over the second-hand merchandise, looking for a deal.

When they mentioned the chess pieces, Sam Hawley made a face.

"We don't deal with McAvoy anymore," he said. "He brings nothing but trouble."

"Stolen merchandise?" Ezra asked.

"I don't need that kind of pain," Sam said. "Told him as much when he came through."

"He had the chess set?" Nathan asked.

Sam smirked. "Wanted more than I could afford for it. Asked for $150."

Nathan was stunned. $150? It had cost him $100 to buy the clinic space, and that was a painful amount. It had taken all his careful savings. He'd yet to recover from that price.

The pawnbroker smirked as he said, "Try Woodman Pawn. I think they're more inclined to deal with McAvoy."

Woodman Pawn had a difference ambiance – richer, darker, more luxurious, but Nathan felt a strange anxiety as they entered. It didn't feel right.

As if to counter him, Ezra said, "I have a good feeling about this one."

Mr. Woodman looked a little furtive when the chess set was mentioned, but after a certain amount of prodding and a stream of compliments from Ezra, Woodman loosened up a bit. Standish mentioned that he knew McAvoy and knew that he had the chess set.

"He spoke highly of your store and I was hoping you were clever enough to procure it. Is it still here?" he asked leadingly. "If so, I would like to see it."

"Why yes, there was a chess set," Woodman said, his chest puffed with pride from the bullshit that Ezra had been slinging his way. "It was exceptional, and I couldn't pass it up!"

Nathan's gaze swept the store, looking for it.

Ezra went on, "Certainly, such a piece won't sell quickly. We are willing to negotiate with you regarding the price."

Woodman looked smug. "I purchased it specifically for one of my customers who enjoys fine things. I sent a messenger to him as soon as I had the set, and sold it to him immediately - for more than twice what I paid."

"It's already gone?" Nathan asked, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice. More than twice what he'd paid? That meant it sold for over $300. That was enough to buy substantial property. Truly, more than $300? It seemed impossible to believe.

"He likes the weird stuff," Woodman said and then looked speculatively at the pair. "I made a good deal with that one."

"McAvoy stole that set from this man," Ezra said, jabbing a thumb in Nathan's direction. "This is the artist who created it."

Woodman scowled. "Where's your proof?"

"Our faces were carved in the wood!" Ezra returned.

A flash of recognition crossed Woodman's face, only to deepen into a frown. "Do you think I looked that closely at it? I think you're full of crap. You have no proof that it was stolen? Why would I accept the word of…" and he looked as if he'd just smelled something foul, "… a gambler and a darkie?"

Ezra slapped a hand on the counter. "Because you saw our faces on those pieces! You know the truth of the matter!"

Woodman shook his head. "No, no, I can't be certain. You're taking advantage of me. I know your type! I've dealt with con artists before." He pointed at Ezra's face. "You're trying to stir up trouble. Bet someone used you as models. Bet you claim it's yours all the time then cheat good men out of their money. I'm betting McAvoy was in on the deal. Get out of my shop before I have you thrown out by the law."

"We are lawmen from Four Corners!" Ezra stated.

The pawnbroker didn't look impressed. "Four Corners? That crummy little town? Lawmen? I don't believe you." He curled a lip in distain. "Just look at you. Who would want either of you protecting their town?"

Ezra's stepped back. "Believe what you will. I can do nothing to sway you, but you shall be paying for this when all is said and done!"

Woodman leaned forward. "I wouldn't count on it," he growled. "Now, get out of my store!"

Ezra looked about ready to jump the counter and attack the man, so Nathan put a hand down on his arm, trying to still him. "Mister," he said in a calm voice. "Mr. Woodman, could you please tell us the name of the man who bought it? We'd just like to speak to him about it."

"That's confidential," the pawnbroker snapped. "I'm not going to send the likes of you after one of my best customers and an Alderman."

Ezra straightened as if impressed. "An Alderman?"

"The youngest elected," the pawnbroker said importantly. "I voted for him."

"Indeed," Ezra said, his anger seeming to leach away. "One must stand up for one's neighbors in such matters."

"Of course," Woodman agreed.

They stood in silence for a moment longer, as if nobody knew how to end the confrontation. Finally, Ezra placed his hat on his head and said, "Good day, sir. I'm sorry that you couldn't help us in this matter."

"Hey," Woodman called as they turned to go. "If you actually did carve it, I'd be open to buying some more. I have folks who want savage stuff. If you can get me any of those, I'm sure to sell them."

Nathan looked over his shoulder as they left the establishment, but didn't nod to his suggestion. Instead, he faced forward and left with Ezra.

.7.7.7

"Now, what do we do?" Nathan asked as he moved with Ezra through the street.

"To the Ridge City Reporter," Ezra said. "Journalism will be our salvation."

Nathan shook his head. "Nobody's going to report on a chess set, Ezra," he said. "I mean, I don't think Mary would even write a story on such a thing." She hadn't, actually.

"The youngest Alderman in town, who lives in this vicinity. Certainly, something about him has been mentioned from the City Council." Ezra smiled broadly. "We only need to ask the right questions, find the correct stories and we'll be on our way again."

Ezra was on the move, and Nathan hurried after him.

.7.7.7

The youngest Alderman on the City Council, who lived just a few blocks from the pawnbroker, wasn't hard to find. The clerk at the Ridge City Reporter had been helpful, pointing out the dates of the election. It was just a matter of finding out the ages of the councilmembers and then tracking down where he lived. The young alderman was a subscriber, after all.

The Spencer home on the corner of 3rd and Beech was an extravagant structure, large and well-appointed, surrounded by a fence to keep out the riff-raff. An auspicious place for Ridge City – probably the best home in the little town. Obviously, the owner liked to flaunt his wealth.

Nathan looked across to Ezra as they opened the gate. He found a pleasant smile.

"No worries, Nathan," Ezra said. "It's only a matter of time now."

An officious man opened the door when they knocked. He looked surprised, then offended. "Deliveries are made at the back," he said in a low voice.

"We're here to see Mr. Spencer," Ezra said brightly. "We have a message that concerns him."

"Please, give the message to me," he said. "I will see that Mr. Spencer receives it as soon as warranted."

"It's rather important that we see him immediately and in person," Ezra went on. He continued to smile, charmingly and convincingly, standing with his hands held behind his back. "We have information of a private nature." He lowered his voice then, ducking his head, looking secretive.

The man wasn't impressed.

"It about his father," Nathan tried.

The servant's gaze met Nathan's for a moment. That did it.

"It's very important information that needs to be relayed directly," Ezra said.

He still didn't open the door any further, but he looked interested.

"We're not leaving until you let us speak to him," Ezra said. "I'm sure you'd rather not have us raise a scene here, on your property, at your front door. What will the neighbors think?" He glanced over his shoulder and looked to the street where people were ambling along. "Consider how they'll talk."

The man grimaced and opened the door a little wider to allow them into the vestibule. "Please wait here," he uttered. "I will speak to Mr. Spencer."

The men shuffled into the grand house, hats in hand and looked about at the opulence of the place. Mr. Spencer had obviously done well for himself. His wealth was on display everywhere. Every surface and inch of wall seemed to be crammed with artwork.

Once they'd provided their names, the servant slipped through another door. Almost immediately, a young maid came through the same doorway. She looked a little embarrassed as she stood beside the passageway.

"It will be just a moment," she said quietly, then bit her lip and tried to look natural.

Ezra sighed and threw Nathan a sidelong glance. Obviously, she was sent to keep an eye on them. Apparently, they looked like the types who might rob the house blind, given the chance.

"Now, he's just showing off," Ezra said in a low voice

Nathan gave the maid – little more than a girl – a warm smile. She still looked anxious, as if she'd rather be anywhere but there. She smiled softly in return.

The other servant wasn't gone long. When he returned, he gave the maid a questioning glance and receiving a shake of the head in response. She looked glad to be relieved of her duty.

Satisfied, the man said, "Please come with me. Mr. Spencer will see you now."

They moved further into the house until they came to the study. The room was to be absolutely stuffed with brick-a-brack, tables and shelves. Spencer sat at his desk, hunched over piles of papers.

Nathan's gaze searched the clutter, looking for any sign of the chess set. There was so much here, but still no sign of what he sought.

"Mr. Spencer," the servant said in a low voice. "I would like to announce Misters Standish and Jackson."

"Thank you, Jones," Spencer said, not looking up from his work. The man disappeared soundlessly and Spencer continued to write for another minute before he lifted his head. "What can I help you with?"

Ezra smiled again. "Mr. Spencer," he said in a light tone. "I hope you're having a delightful day. The weather has been quite pleasant lately, wouldn't you say?"

Spencer groaned and said, "I don't have time for idle chit chat. Jones told me that you had news about my father. Is the gout getting worse?" He sounded bored.

"Not that we know of," Ezra replied smoothly. "But we are concerned for him. I understand that you've been in touch with him recently?"

"In touch?" Spencer response. "I shipped him a birthday gift, I respond to his telegrams. I've done that much."

At that comment, Nathan blinked. A gift?

"Very good," Ezra said. "And how kind of you to think of your father when he's feeling ill. I'm certain he will be happy with your thoughtful present. Perhaps it is something that he can enjoy during his infirmity."

"He should," Spencer responded. "I paid enough for it."

Nathan cleared his throat and asked, "A chess set?"

Spencer gave him a queer look. "How'd you know?"

Feeling his heart sink, Nathan tried not to look upset.

Ezra continued to smile. "Oh, a lucky guess. My companion enjoys a game of chess and believes that everyone should have one. A good game is a balm for the soul when one is housebound."

Spencer nodded, looking suspicious. "What do you want?"

"I was hoping that you could put us in touch with your father," Ezra said. "An investment has paid off and we were hoping to find him here. Unfortunately, our information led us to the younger Spencer at instead of the elder."

"Investment?" Daryl said, looking more interested. His expression changed as he looked both of them up and down. "And why should I trust you? Why did you know about my gift?"

Nathan started explain the truth of the matter. "Mr. Spencer, you see, we're seeking…"

Ezra cut him off, "Of course, you can trust us," he said, making Nathan cringe a little. "We are on a mission of utmost importance and need to speak to him immediately."

Jackson glanced to Ezra, seeing him smiling still, trying to look as trustworthy as possible. The problem was, the conman had that look…

Spencer scowled. "What's my father's first name then?"

Ezra shrugged off the question. "I don't have my paperwork with me and I'm afraid that the information has left my mind." He fluttered a hand beside his head.

"Yeah, right," Spencer picked up a bell from his desk. He rang it hard and immediately the door opened. Jones obviously hadn't moved since he left the room.

"Jones," Spencer said. "Please escort these 'gentlemen' from my home and do not let their sort in again." His expression showed the depth of his disappointment in his servant.

And with that, they were summarily expelled from the Spencer residence.

.7.7.7

"Now what?" Jackson asked, his hands sunk into his pockets, as the two strode through town. "If he sent the chess set to his father, we don't know where to find it. We don't even know his first name."

"Well, not presently, but soon," Ezra said. "Spencer the younger said that he shipped the gift. Our next stop will be the shipping office at the train station. With a little persuasion, I'm sure we'll find out where the gift went."

"Ezra, I'm not so sure about this," Nathan muttered. "We're just getting deeper into this and it's leading us to trouble."

"Trouble?" Ezra replied. "How have we caused any trouble? We're trying to right a grievous wrong."

"We should've told him the truth," Nathan stated.

"Never," Ezra responded. "He is the type who hangs onto his money with all his might. I know the type. The gift to his father was meant as a show of wealth. Do you honestly think he'd try to reunite you with something so expensive out of the goodness of his heart?"

"I don't think we should be lying to people."

"Did we lie?"

Nathan shot Ezra a look.

"Well, not much." With a determined stride, Ezra continued on his way through the town, toward the train station. Nathan had to hurry to keep up.

.7.7.7

The agent at the shipping office hadn't been a tough nut to crack. Once Ezra had discovered the man's pride in his memory, it only took a few questions to get the name George Spencer and St Louis from him. Unfortunately, that was the depth of the agent's mind vault and he would not pull any official records to confirm further details.

Nonetheless, Ezra declared that was plenty, and immediately moved to the train's ticket office. In spite of Nathan's protest, Ezra purchased the necessary fares. Next, Ezra sent a carefully worded telegram to Four Corners.

They set up their horses at the livery and then headed back to the telegraph office, finding a message from Chris waiting. Ezra shook his head as he read, saying, '"I am imaging that vein in his head throbbing as he read our note."

"Your note. You didn't let me read it."

"I just told him that we were on a quest, a quest of destiny."

Nathan groaned and rubbed his head.

Ezra went on, "He sends his love, and tells you to listen to everything I say."

Nathan grimaced. "Hand it over," he said. Ezra looked offended, and made a move to shove the note into his pocket, but Nathan was quicker, grabbing it from his hand.

"IS THIS WELL ADVISED? STOP SEND WORD BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING STUPID STOP KEEP EZRA OUT OF TROUBLE STOP"

"He doesn't seem agree with this," Nathan muttered. "We should go back."

"Ridiculous," Ezra replied. "He told you to let him know _before_ we do anything stupid. So, that means we are not currently doing anything stupid. And, if you are to keep me out of trouble, that means I am not currently in trouble. How can I get _into_ trouble if we're not going on an adventure?"

"Ezra, you can get into trouble any day of the week, anywhere you put your feet."

Ezra grinned at that, showing off his gold tooth. "He gives us his blessing. Besides, I've already purchased the tickets. You wouldn't want me to lose money in that deal."

"I can't leave the town for that long, Ezra. I can't ask Doc Meer to help for much longer. He's visiting and I don't want to bother him."

"And when has anyone ever worried about whether or not they're bothering you? It's part of the profession you've both chosen. Poor choice if you asked me. You would do the same for him, if asked. He's there for a few more days, so we have plenty of time. Let's be going."

The third class tickets put them into a creaky old car. It was, of course, all that was available for Nathan. If Ezra had any disappointment on their circumstances, he kept the thoughts to himself and stretched out in row of seats.

The journey was long, and Ezra spent much of it in the club car, plying his trade, but returned to the third class car for the night, looking dejected. "Amateurs," he said unhappily, "and cheap ones at that."

Nathan spent his time talking with the others traveling in the car, reading and watching the scenery go by. The weather was fair and the time passed quickly enough.

He sent telegrams from the longer stops when he was able. Apologizing to Doc Meer and updating Chris. Larabee sent terse replies, asking when they were going to get back. "Soon as we can," Nathan responded, not wanting to commit to a time.

He was glad that he didn't have to face Chris directly. At least, all was well in Four Corners. Meer was keeping an eye on any injuries that cropped up.

As the ride dragged on, and Ezra lingered in the club car, Nathan realized how ridiculous this had become. He'd only wanted to track down the thief, but a simple ride to Ridge City to ask questions was stretching on far too long.

It was just a chess set after all. Just a 'thing'. He knew he had to prepare himself for the fact that it might be gone forever now. He'd lost so much in his life, this was the least of it.

He closed his eyes at the landscape rumbled past and fell asleep when it grew dark. When he awoke, Ezra was back, draped across his seats, asleep as well.

And then, suddenly, they were pulling into Saint Louis. There was a rush of passengers and they stepped down into the bustling station.

He'd never seen a place so full of people before. The surging waves of humanity almost overwhelmed him.

Ezra waded through the crowd as if it was natural to him, steering them through the bustle and to the shipping office. The agent in Saint Louis wasn't as loose-lipped as the one in Ridge City, and they came away with nothing. No matter, Ezra said, and their next stop was the telegraph office. Instead of talking to the agents at the desk, Ezra gestured to one of the delivery boys who loitered nearby. He held up a coin and the boy came running.

They had the address of George Spencer (who sometimes received messages from Daryl Spencer), in no time at all. For an extra penny, they even received an escort.

"That's the place," the kid said, pointing to the little first floor apartment.

"You sure?" Ezra said. "I'd hate to think all of my good money has come to nothing."

"I ain't lying," the kid said. "That's the place where George Spencer lives. You mark my word!" The boy nodded and then turned on his heels. In a flash he was gone, running back to the telegraph office to await his next delivery.

"Not at all like his son's residence," Ezra said speculatively.

"It's nice though," Nathan stated. "Just smaller. If he has the gout really bad, he's not going to want to walk around much. Probably needs a smaller space."

"Excellent thinking, Mr. Jackson!" Ezra replied. "No stairs makes for a better living space. Shall we proceed?"

Once again, they were on the verge of finding the missing chess set. _Please_ , Nathan prayed, _please, let it be here this time. Let this be easy. Let me see it again._

And then what? What would happen if they found the set? Already they knew it had sold for over $300. That was an astounding amount of money, more than he'd ever had in his possession.

"Hang on a minute," Nathan said quietly, before they approached the door. "How're we gonna go about this, Ezra? Are we just going to tell him to give it back? Are we gonna try to buy it off him? I can't see how he'd just give up something that cost so much, and I just don't have that kind of money."

"And neither do I," Ezra replied dourly. "The club car was not kind, in spite of my most fervent efforts. At this point, we need to ascertain whether or not he has it. He's three times removed from the theft now and hasn't paid a penny for it. With any luck, we may be able to strike a bargain with him. Sadly, of course, because he had nothing to do with the theft, we can't arrest him for it, can we? He's an innocent party. We can claim that you're the true owner and perhaps he'll listen to reason. It's obviously yours because you smartly carved our images into the pieces, but he might believe as Mr. Woodman did, and think we're trying to scam him."

"If we have to buy it, I won't be able to afford the kind of money," Nathan said tiredly. "It'd take me forever to save up that much."

"We'll manage something," Ezra said. "I have a small stake that I should be able to build up if I can find the right table."

"I don't know how I'll pay you back," Nathan said.

"We'll work out terms." Ezra said offhand. "If we're lucky, he might take pity and be willin' to accept a pittance for it. He might not know its worth. It won't hurt to ask. And, if he asks for an exorbitant amount, we'll see if he would agree to installments."

"I can't take on that sort of responsibility, Ezra. I can't spend the rest of my life paying for something. I'm not going to be tied to that kind of debt, not to anyone."

Ezra gave Nathan a long look. "But it's important to you," he said. "If we find it, we must do everything we can to get it back."

Nathan felt sick just considering it. The prices paid at the pawnshop were more than he could afford. If George Spencer asked for even more, he couldn't ever come up with it. And, the idea that he might have found the set, and still have to leave it behind, hurt him to the core. "We shouldn't have come," he muttered.

"Nonsense," Ezra responded. He gestured to the apartment. "It won't hurt to ask. Let's at least try."

Nathan nodded and they headed toward the door.

.7.7.7

An older woman opened the door and gave them a curious look. "Can I help you?" she asked tentatively.

Before Ezra could speak, Jackson blurted out, "Ma'am, we'd like to talk to Mr. Spencer about a chess set that his son sent to him."

"Oh!" the woman said brightly. "Did you like it? It's about the nicest thing that Daryl ever gave him."

The response confused the pair and they glanced at each other.

"Come in, come in," she encouraged and stepped back from the doorway. "George! Someone's here to talk to you about the chess set."

They moved into the little domicile, finding it much less crammed than the son's home. It was lighter and brighter. They moved easily through the sunlit passageway.

"Emmie?" a voice called from another room. "Did you say they wanted to talk about the chess set?"

"Yes, George," she called as she led the way. She glanced over her shoulder. "He's been so excited to talk about it."

She turned into a room, and they found George Spencer in a large comfortable chair, one swollen leg raised on a cushion. He smiled. "Gentlemen, how good of you to stop by. Please, forgive me. I have trouble standing. Have a seat. Emmie, can you bring some tea for our guests. It's so good to have guests. Please, be seated. Be comfortable. Hello, I'm George Spencer."

Ezra stepped forward to shake his offered hand. "Ezra Standish, at your service, sir. And my colleague is Nathan Jackson."

"Nathan and Ezra, Nathan and Ezra," he said tapping the side of his head. "If I repeat it, I'll remember it. Have a seat! Have a seat. Emmie! Please, can you find something for our visitors? I'm sure they'd like to try your lemon cake. It's the best. The very best. You can't ask for anything better. Please, have a seat."

They sat, because they couldn't handle being told again.

Emmie went to the kitchen, humming, and Nathan looked around the room, desperate to see the chess set, but the room was plain, nearly empty, with only a few chair, and a desk. A little vase of flowers sat on the windowsill.

"So pleased you came for a visit. You wanted to talk about the chess set, right?"

From the kitchen, Emmie called, "I'll have the tea ready in just a moment. The water was already on boil. Just a moment!"

Ezra smiled, and stated, "You see, Mr. Spencer, my friend here is the artist who…"

George's face changed as his jaw dropped. "Pawn! You're a pawn!" He pointed at Ezra, and then looked to Nathan. "Emmie!" he called. "Emmie! Nathan is the pawn who's on both sides! He's the one!"

Emmie came racing back into the room, teapot in hand. She held a hand to her mouth as she gazed at Nathan in something akin to reverence.

Nathan sat back.

"And Ezra's one of the white pawns. Look at him! He looks just like the gambler pawn," George said, jabbing at finger at Ezra. "Just like him!"

"Oh my! Oh my!" Emmie cried. "He's right. You're the spitting images of those pieces." Tears nearly came to her eyes and both Ezra and Nathan looked at her in alarm.

"Oh, I wish we still had it here so that we could compare," George said wistfully.

Emmie puttered around, pouring tea into cups that sat on the back table, but Nathan wasn't paying attention to that.

Emmie spoke. "I'm so delighted! I've been wanting to ask this question ever since I first laid eyes on it. It is the same person on both sides, isn't it? Or are they brothers? Twins? What does it mean? Why are they on both sides?" She looked at Nathan intently. "It is you?"

Nathan didn't seem to hear her. "It's not here?" he asked fretfully.

George smiled. "Oh, Daryl is always buying us expensive useless things. We have no room." He lifted a hand to the simple space he was occupying. "I suppose he thought I could make good use of a chess board, but such a piece as that should never be kept private. It deserves to be on display and admired by all. It would be a sin if I kept it to myself."

Ezra furrowed his brow. "And where, pray tell, is it?" He smiled when Emmie handed him a teacup.

Spencer the elder looked proud. "Where I send all my best artwork. It's at the museum."

Nathan didn't move when Emmie tried to hand him a cup. "What was that?" he asked, unable to believe his ears.

"The museum," George stated. "It's just up the street. They put it on display in my wing." He smiled proudly. "I have total control over what is shown there. That chess set is exactly where it needs to be. You should be so proud, Mr. Jackson, to know your work is in such a prestigious place. Everyone can admire it!"

Ezra asked, "Then, it would be possible to retrieve it? You see, the set was stolen from my friend's possession. Stolen and sold to a pawnshop where your son retrieved it, unknowingly." He took a sip of tea and settled the cup delicately on the little saucer. "Certainly, you see that it should be returned to him.

Spencer frowned as he listened, then opened a drawer on his desk. He came up with a slip of paper. "Daryl sent me the receipt. He purchased it legally." He smiled ruefully at where the price had been circled. He held it out, so Ezra took it. "And the set belongs to me, and I did the right thing when I sent it where everyone can admire it."

Ezra scrutinized the page. "But, certainly, you are open to the idea of getting it back to the true owner?" The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. "We'd be willin' to pay a fee for your kindness. I suppose we can meet the price he paid." He looked dubious as he gazed at the circled price.

George and Emmie exchanged glances.

"You should be so proud," Emmie said, looking lovingly at Nathan.

"No," George responded. "Don't you see, Mr. Jackson? It would be wrong to take that piece of art from the public. It should belong to the world, not one man. Such a marvelous work should be seen by everyone. It would be a sin to take it from the public, to remove it from the museum – a sin."

Nathan just stared as Emmie continued to hold his teacup.

"A sin," George said again.

 **TBC**


	7. For Love of the Game - part 3

**PART 3:**

Nathan left the Spencers' apartment in a hurry and Ezra hustled to keep up, almost tripping and falling when he caught his boot on a horse ring imbedded in the curb.

"Easy, Nathan," Ezra called, struggling to regain his stride. "No reason to rush. We'll get there in time."

Nathan didn't answer. For a moment he was lost, not knowing where to turn, but Ezra grabbed his arm and started steering. Glad for some direction, Jackson let Ezra guide him through the crowds of people. He heard him ask for directions at one point, and then they continued on their way.

His chess set was in a museum? It was unbelievable. How could anything he created be in a considered a work of art? Were the carvings really that good?

Was Spencer right? If his chess pieces were truly works of art, was it wrong to keep it all to himself?

Had he been wrong all along?

His mind was still reeling when Ezra came to a halt.

Nathan looked up, and saw that they were at the front steps of the museum. He stared up at the edifice with wide eyes. White marble shone in the afternoon sun.

"Shall we?" Ezra said, gesturing toward the entrance and the ticket window.

Feeling ill, Nathan could only stand and stare.

"Nathan," Ezra said quietly. "We should go in and speak to someone. We should at least see it."

Nathan shook his head. "I can't," he said softly. He indicated the sign above the ticket window.

"What," Ezra glanced at the signs. "You mean, there's going to be a lecture tonight?"

"No, the other one," Nathan said, glaring at the marker that described everyone who was not allowed in. He automatically looked for that sort of message wherever they went. The forbidding placards was more prevalent than he cared to admit.

It was almost a relief to have a reason to stay outside. He felt breathless and out of sorts, almost as if he could drift away into a dream.

Ezra made a face, and then turned to look up and down the street. "I'll be back momentarily," he said. "Stay here." He started dodging his way through the people.

Nathan caught sight of him, talking to one of the street vendors, whose cart was laden with all manner of knick-knacks. After a short conversation, Ezra was headed back toward him, swinging a cane in his hand.

"This should suffice," he said brightly, and gestured toward the door again.

"Ezra, I don't know what you're planning, but I don't think I need to go in and see it." Nathan wanted to be anywhere but in that plaza at that moment. Why didn't Ezra just let things be? They could be back in Four Corners and everything would have gone back to normal. "It's just so… wrong. I shouldn't be here. I don't need to see it there. I'll just remember it. It's better that way if I can keep it in my mind, the way it was."

Ezra looked at him for a moment, slack jawed. "We need to see what's going on," he insisted. "We'll take a quick look and ask a few questions. That's all."

"You should go alone."

"But it's your chess set." Ezra indicated the cane. "We have a way in."

Nathan eyed the object, feeling numb. "What are you up to with that?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I hurt my foot when you ran me into that horse ring. It's swelling dreadfully."

That snapped Nathan out of his daze. "Ezra, why didn't you tell me? Do you think you broke something? We should get you resting somewhere and I can take a look at it." It was, if nothing else, another excuse to get away. He stooped to get a closer look at the injury, but Ezra gave him a whack on the shoulder with the cane.

With a yelp, Nathan straightened.

"It will get better," Standish said and leaned on Nathan. "Let's go." He started walking, now with a heavy limp. Between putting his weight on Nathan's arm and using the cane, it appeared that Ezra could barely propel himself up the steps.

Nathan frowned, knowing that Ezra had shown none of this disability moments ago. What was he getting into now?

They staggered up the stairs. When Nathan looked up, he could see the ticket seller glaring at their approach. Charlatan that he was, Ezra was wheezing with the effort as they made it to the window. Nathan listened as the man denied them entry. Ezra kept reiterating that he couldn't manage without his assistant, and that he was ardent with his desire to see the museum before he left town the next morning.

"I've heard so many good things about your wonders here," Ezra said passionately. "So many amazing things. You cannot deny me just because of my injury. That is unjust!"

"We can provide you with an escort," the ticket seller continued, his gaze on Nathan.

"Nonsense," Ezra proclaimed, his accent thick as molasses. "My assistant knows my ways. How could I trust a stranger? I will pay for his entry. There are few people inside on such a fine day. You must be nearly empty at this time. What harm will it do?" And Ezra pushed a fold of money toward the agent. "You can keep the change, my dear sir, for your troubles."

The ticket man seemed to think about it. Then, his hand went out and he pulled the overpayment in. Almost surreptitiously, he pressed the tickets through the window.

"Thank you, sir," Ezra said.

When they reached the entrance, the usher looked surprised. He threw a look to the ticket window, and apparently received a response. They were allowed in.

The museum was dim with the late afternoon light, and as Ezra had suspected, nearly empty. Standish continued to lean on Jackson, putting so much weight on his arm, that the healer had trouble walking. He wanted to complain, but the few patrons were throwing them unsettled glances. Ezra's staggered walk seemed to satisfy unasked questions.

After taking a moment to adjust to the lighting, Ezra checked a directory mounted on the wall, and then took a turn toward the "Spencer Gallery". They clomped down the passageway, Ezra's cane making a racket as they traveled.

As they moved, Nathan looked about at the beautiful paintings and sculptures that decorated the hallways, everything seemed to sing of its importance and its place in the art world. He felt the weight of the ages on his shoulders.

Finally, they found the doorway marked with the man's name. The Spencer 'wing' amounted to one room – but its contents were impressive. The space was filled with art – the walls covered with paintings. Display cases lined the walls, filled with all manner of beautiful and precious things - from tiny beautiful bits of jewelry to woven baskets, stone figures to gilded parchments. An Egyptian sarcophagus stood in one corner and a beautiful Grecian statue occupied another.

Nathan barely saw the other items though as his eyes focused on the display in the center of the room. On a table, covered with glass case - finally – his chess set.

It was in perfect position to catch the late afternoon sunlight coming in through the high windows. It was as if a spotlight had been directed on it. Obviously, it was meant to be the highlight of the gallery.

He didn't notice that Ezra's grip on his arm had changed. He might have collapsed if not for that extra support.

It was here – his chess set, placed on an ornate tray, displayed under glass. The pieces sat in perfect order, too precise to be used in a game. They were safe here from grubby hands and dust. They would not be touched again.

There were his sisters, his mother and father, Reverend Grady and Father Antonio, President and Mrs. Lincoln, Miz Lizzie and Auntie Maddie, Nan, John, Old Joe, Francis and Rodney, the Great Pyramid of Giza and the arched Leptis Magna, bastion and tower, zebra and antelope, surgeon, captain and medicine man - and his friends.

The pieces faced each other – stagnant – frozen forever so that all may be see them clearly.

It was so perfect and so beautiful here.

It took a moment for him to realize there was a placard set in front of the set. It took him three tries to comprehend it as he read through it.

 _Beautifully crafted primitive chess set carved in pine and mahogany. It is believed that one artist carved the entire set, starting with the dark pieces, which appear to be of a more naïve quality, and created in an African style, reminiscent of several different regions._

 _The dress of the white pieces are in contemporary American. It is believed the white pieces were recently completed._

 _The quality is unparalleled. The detail leads us to believe that each carving represents a specific person. This is the best representation of Africans seen by our curator. Visitors should examine the thoughtful carving and take note of the sympathetic portrayals. Such work should be emulated._

 _Note: the nearest pawn on both sides appear to be the same person, the reason why is a mystery._

 _Artist unknown. Donated by George Spencer._

The room seemed to be growing dimmer, the museum grew quieter.

Proud. Nathan felt the pride swell in his chest. Never had he felt so satisfied, so very respected. Here, in this place where he wasn't even allowed to walk alone, his work was honored.

Finally, Ezra called his name. It took a moment for Nathan to respond by glancing to his friend.

"We should find the curator and ask him how we can liberate your work."

"I don't know, Ezra," Nathan whispered. "It's better this way. This is where it belongs." He might be treated as less-than-a-man in the world outside, but as an unknown artist, he was important.

Ezra turned abruptly, towing Nathan with him – again putting his weight on Nathan's arm and clumping away with the cane. Once he found the front offices, he started shouting for attention. Nathan cringed.

For all Ezra's sturm und drang, the curator could not be found. "He's gone home for the day," one attendant said in a hushed voice. "You can see him tomorrow. He's here early."

"We'll return!" Ezra stated, as he limped to the door.

As they left the immediate vicinity of the museum, Ezra lightened his hold on Nathan and the cane began to swing at his side as he strode along.

"Now, Nathan, the only thing we need to do is to convince the curator that you are indeed the artist who created the set. If we can do that, then we need to convince him that it was stolen from you, and sway him to return it to its rightful owner. Our own images, carved into pawns, will bring us most of the way. I'm not sure if our positions as peacekeepers from the Wild West will be enough. We may need you to demonstrate your prowess with the knife to really prove it. After all, you may have been merely a model. It may take a day or two to complete all the necessary machinations, but we will manage. After all, 'Persistence' is my middle name."

"I thought it was 'Persuasive'"

"Also, 'Patient'. All will come in handy."

"We can't stay here, Ezra. Doc Meer is gonna be leaving Four Corners tomorrow. We have to get back."

"We can at least speak to the curator. So, we take the afternoon train instead of the morning train," Ezra said, moving into the opening of an alley so that they could talk. "Four Corners will be unattended for a few days no matter what, and Josiah is a fine nurse. That'll give us half a day to get started."

"I can't," Nathan muttered, imaging the chess set as it stood on that beautiful tray, under glass, shining in the sun.

"You must," Ezra countered.

"Enough, Ezra," Nathan said, trying to keep the sharpness from his voice. "Just stop it."

"Nathan, we can't stop now. We've found it." Ezra turned toward the museum. "Now, we only need to find a way to wrest it from the clutches of the public. I believe if we can offer a large enough 'donation' we may be able to free it." He brought the cane up to aim it at the museum, wielding it like a sword. "We attack in the morning!"

"Ezra, stop!" Nathan said again, pulling the cane from Ezra's grip. "This has to stop now."

Ezra looked crestfallen to lose the cane. His eyes followed it as Nathan brought it to his side.

"We aren't attacking anything," Nathan went on.

"I haven't been able to gain much money so far - the club car was disappointing," Ezra said, sounding morose. "But now, we're in a decent city. I am certain that, if Lady Luck is kind, I will be able to amass an appreciable amount. Enough to grease the right wheels. I can do it, Nathan," Ezra continued. "I've made that much and more in a single night, and I should be able to do it again."

"We're not bribing anyone for it."

" _Donation_. It's a donation supplied by Misters Jackson and Standish. Perhaps they'll name a room after us as well. Maybe even affix a nice plaque to the wall." Ezra held up his hands as if adjusting such a sign.

"It'd be all your money, and I can't be in debt to you," Nathan said, his voice low. "I can't be beholding to any man. It's far too much, Ezra!"

Ezra looked as if he'd been struck. "It's not like that. I'm only growing my stake. And nobody seemed to have any problem taking my money to help Nettie Wells or to purchase that poor girl at the Chinese camp."

"That was different," Nathan tried.

"How?" Ezra responded.

Nathan couldn't say. Finally, he murmured, "That was for people. This is a thing."

"You're people too, Nathan."

"I can't take that kind of money."

"Then, you can pay me what I started with. I'll never say 'no' if someone wants to hand over cash. In fact, I insist! There are plenty of folks back home who owe you. You only need to call in your markers and we'll be even. If Judge Travis didn't pay our medical expenses, I'd be in debt to you for the rest of my life."

"You don't owe me anything."

Ezra paused at that. "Let me do this for you, Nathan."

"No, Ezra," Nathan stood his ground.

Ezra spoke, sounding confused, "But we need to get your chess set back."

"Spencer was right," Nathan continued. "It isn't right that one man keep such a thing. It should be on display so that everyone can see it. You read that card, didn't you?"

Ezra frowned. "But it's your life, Nathan. Perhaps you can carve another…"

"It can't be replaced!" Nathan snapped. "It's staying there, where it belongs, where it will do some good. It's a hell of a lot better than stuck in a box under my cabinet!"

"But you can't leave it here. Don't you see how wrong this is?"

"I'm not an idiot, Ezra! I know exactly where it should be." Nathan stated brusquely. "It's not 'wrong'. This is the right thing. I'm not that selfish. It's needs to be there, seen by everyone. Some folks want to take everything that's precious for themselves."

Ezra made a strange expression at that, and started to speak.

Nathan cut him off. "Stop this nonsense, Ezra. You always go too far! I'm done. I'm just done. I'm gonna get a room. Folks on the train told me to try the Bartholomew. It's not right for you, so I'll see you tomorrow at the train station."

He strode off in the direction of the promised hotel. He didn't his step until he reached it. He turned as he entered, looking over his shoulder and expecting Ezra to have followed, but was surprised to find himself alone.

He let out a breath. "Damn," he muttered.

He considered going in search of his friend, but had no idea where he might have gone. At least Ezra knew where to find him, and where to meet him in the morning.

With a sigh, Nathan went in, promising that he'd make it up to him.

.7.7

The room at the Bartholomew was small but clean. He'd been savvy enough to pack a change of clothes for his travels, but they'd been out for a few days, now. Things needed refreshing.

He took the time to rinse out some of his clothing and to hang it out to dry. The simple activity helped calm him.

He knew that Ezra had been trying to help, but Standish didn't understand the situation anymore. Nathan knew he couldn't take the set from the museum. It was too important. It was too special to belong to one man.

He'd talk to Ezra in the morning. Ezra would understand. He was strangely forgiving of any slight aimed in his direction. Of course he never seemed to forget when he'd slighted others.

Nathan pondered that, wondering if all this was just Ezra's attempt to atone for actions from when they'd first met.

"You don't owe me anything," Nathan said quietly.

It wasn't Ezra's responsibility to gamble all night to earn enough for that chess set.

But as Nathan sat on the bed, he couldn't help yearning for his carvings. His hands opened and closed as he wished to hold each of the pieces again. He'd been so close to it. If not for the glass, he could have reached out to touch it. But it wasn't his any longer – it belonged to the city of St. Louis.

Maybe someone at the museum would let him get close to it one last time. It had slipped through his fingers so quickly, he hadn't had the chase to say goodbye.

He needed to say goodbye to everyone.

Maybe, if he went to the museum in the morning, the curator would let him see it. He'd go early, before he went to the train station to meet Ezra.

He just hoped the museum officials would see him. They'd have to believe he had something to do with the set – his face was obviously part of it. But he remembered that they might need further convincing. Just because his face was included didn't mean that he'd carved it.

He could prove it.

He glanced around the room and his gaze fastened on the cane he'd taken from Ezra. He'd left it leaning in the corner. It was a simple cane of good quality maple. He picked it up and turned it in his hand, trying to decide what to do.

It didn't have the typical curved crook, but it would still be difficult to place a face on the handle. As he twisted it about, he realized that the grip would be perfect for a horse's head - to match one of the knights'.

He hoped he could get it completed in time.

.7.7.7

Nathan awoke, feeling frustrated and defeated. He'd been too weary and the lamp oil had run out in the room before he'd managed to complete much. All night, he'd been haunted by dreams of the people he loved. They seemed to be beckoning him from afar, calling out but drifting away – disappearing into a fog. He had been rooted in his place, unable to follow, not even capable of calling out their names.

All night long, he had watched them vanish into the mist.

It left him feeling hollow and lonely.

In the morning light, he ran a hand over his face, trying to dispel the last of that dream. Needing something to do, he reached for the cane. The partly carved image seemed to counter any claim of greatness.

The maple had been harder to carve than he'd hoped, and the result was a blocky and amateurish mule-shaped thing. He dropped it on his bag, leaving it behind. He would pick up his things on the way back to the train station. It made no sense to burden himself at this point.

He checked at the front desk, hoping that Ezra had left a message, but there was nothing for him. Either Ezra was still annoyed with him or the gambler had been up all night – again.

What if Ezra had managed to amass the required amount? What if he showed up with everything they needed?

The faces continued to beckon to him. He needed to see the chess pieces again, to hold what he'd created.

They were his. He needed them back.

He couldn't take that much money from Ezra, but… what if…

Nathan let himself hope. Maybe a deal could be struck?

It wouldn't hurt to try, Nathan reasoned. And maybe, if he could collect from some of the Four Corners townspeople who owed him – he might have enough to repay Ezra, at least cover his outlay.

He chuckled to himself, wondering if it was worth hoping. Should he even consider the possibility?

He left the hotel and moved along the street toward the museum, feeling lighter and more assured. If he could strike a deal, if the curator believed he was the artist, if Ezra made enough money, if the payment would be accepted, then taking the set would be justified.

And if anything fell through, it wasn't meant to be.

Resolved, Nathan increased his pace through the early morning street.

Maybe this would work. Maybe he could get the chess set back. His chest felt tight as he thought of the prospects. It would be wrong, though, wouldn't it? It would be wrong to take it from the city.

But he wanted it back.

He rounded the corner just before the museum, and came to a dead stop.

There were police officers around the marble building. Some stood at the door, examining a broken latch, others huddled a window and others wandered the grounds - all of them busily searching.

Nathan approached slowly, not daring to get too close. A dark-skinned man was sweeping the walkway.

"What happened?" Nathan asked the worker.

The man shook his head. "Someone broke in last night. I hear they tried to make off with a whole box of stuff. Dropped almost all of it. Seems they got only one thing."

Nathan closed his eyes and waited a beat. "What was taken?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"A chess set, if you can believe that."

Nathan brought a hand to his head.

"They caught someone. I was here when they took him away. An officer found him right at the main door."

Nathan looked toward the front entrance. "Any description of the man?"

"He was wearing a dark suit," the worker said, "But he had the look of a gambler. Can't trust them, can you?"

"No, no you can't," Nathan shook his head. "Do you know where they took him?"

"Police Station 4, I'd think," he said, pointing. "They cover this area."

And Nathan took off in a jog in the indicated direction, swearing under his breath.

 **TBC**

 _I'm sure everything will work out_


	8. For Love of the Game - part 4

**PART 4:**

"I'll kill him," Nathan muttered as he hurried through the street. "I'll strangle him with my bare hands!"

He dodged through the crowds and was almost run down by a carriage as he crossed an intersection. "What the hell was he thinking? The idiot! He's gone too far! Too far! He's got no right to go against my wishes. I told him…"

People looked at him in alarm as he wended through them. He mumbled and cursed, not slowing for anything until he finally reached the St Louis Police Station Unit 4.

"Serves him right to be locked up! He deserves whatever he gets," he said as he hurried, hoping that things hadn't gotten too far. What was he going to do now? If Ezra ended up imprisoned because of this, he'd never forgive himself.

"Idiot!"

He clambered up the stairs, burst through the doors and took two steps toward the sergeant at the front desk, when he heard a familiar laugh.

"Truly, truly, they had no idea what we were up to. My compatriot – traveling at full speed, mind you - unhitched the horses and sent the wagon tumbling over a cliff, mannequins and all. Thankfully, he was able to get clear without harm. But, the poor, helpless stand-ins were left horribly maimed and scattered at the base of the cliff. The carnage was incredible - petticoats and parasols and pinafores everywhere. I think one of the ladies may have lost her head! One couldn't peer over the edge without feeling queasy at the sight."

Ezra went on, "Our ruse was enough to convince our foes, and gave some sense of freedom to those poor ladies. The evil-doers were thwarted and we were victorious." He lifted his hands saying, "And that's how we go about peacekeeping, righting wrongs and taking out desperados in the west. Nathan! How good to see you. I was going to send word, but it looks like you're ahead of me."

Nathan stepped further into the police station, finding Ezra leaned back in one of their desk chairs, feet resting on an upturned wastebasket - half a dozen officers crowded around him, all of them dressed in perfect blue uniforms, all leaning toward him, enthralled.

"I was just telling these fine fellows about some of our derring-dos."

The other men were chuckling, obviously amused by Ezra's tales. "Wish we could get away with some of that," one of them said.

The other officers nodded, looking a little jealous.

"Come in, Nathan" Ezra said, gesturing, inviting as if he were the host.

Nathan moved through the uniformed men, receiving appraising looks from them

"Ezra," Nathan started, "What did you…?"

"Gentlemen, this is the esteemed healer that I spoke to you about, Nathan Jackson." Ezra gestured as Nathan came closer. "He has snatched us all back from the brink on multiple occasion – nimble-minded and skilled in many talents, he's a man you would want beside you in fight, a planning session, a card game or even a long journey by train. I don't know where we'd be if it wasn't for him."

Before Nathan could form a reply, Ezra went on, "Nathan, I'm afraid I'm going to be delayed here at the station. I'm a material witness!" He grinned, looking damn proud of himself.

"A witness?" Nathan repeated.

Ezra nodded. "Yes, yes. Oh! I've had such an eventful day!" He leaned forward and carefully removed his feet from their rest. "My foot was feeling much better before dawn and, being an early riser as I am, I decided to go out for a stroll before we ended up trapped on that train for days. Well, I was amblin' past the museum when I saw something suspicious."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Would you believe, a man was standin' in the front doorway, gazin' about as if he was looking for observers. I was outside of the lamplight and wearin' this dark suit, so I escaped his scrutiny. I saw him step forward with a box under one arm and a bag slung over his shoulder. Immediately, my lawkeepin' suspicious were piqued and I realized that he was up to chicanery. I shouted, 'Stop, thief, in the name of the law!'" Standish looked to the men around him, saying, "I may have been oversteppin', because I am far outside of my usual jurisdiction, but I couldn't let such behavior go without tryin' to stop it."

The men shrugged, apparently able to let such things go.

Ezra went on, "Terrified by my sudden appearance, and determined to escape the swift arm of justice, the man bolted, droppin' the box in his haste."

Ezra looked to the officers with a chagrinned expression. "I might have caught him, but my foot…," he gestured, "…is still givin' me some grief. So, I shouted again, hoping to raise the local constable"

One of the policemen spoke up, turning to Nathan to say, "That's when I came upon the scene. I was walking my beat near that museum all night. I must've just missed it happening. The suspect was gone by the time I made it there. I located the goods he dropped. Thank goodness Standish came by just then."

"Yes, thank goodness!" Ezra echoed.

"The suspect had some expensive looking items in that box," one of the other officers said. "From what the museum man said, they were some of the best things in there. Would have been a shame if he'd gotten away with all of it."

Another added, "They figure he got in through one of the office windows after the lecture last night. The window was unlatched. Must've come through there and had his way with the place. He might've made away with all of it. Just got one bag."

"I was just doin' my duty as a citizen of this country," Ezra said, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm only ashamed that I wasn't able to completely thwart him. If only I'd been able to apprehend him in that moment, he'd be locked away and the rest of the artwork would be safe. Instead, we must spend our day here, pondering what to do next."

Ezra turned to Nathan. "He looked like that fellow that was in town a few weeks back. Ruston McAvoy. Do you remember him? Blond and baggy eyed?"

A detective, leaning in the doorway of his office, said, "Ruston MacAvory? Isn't he out of Kansas City?"

"Is he?" Ezra asked.

The detective, a man named Wallace if the nameplate was correct, stepped forward. "We've had a few run-ins with him when he's up this way. Haven't been able to catch him on anything. Seems, he's an opportunist. Takes valuable things when he can grab them. Sells them immediately. A break-in at a museum doesn't fit."

"Still," Ezra said. "It looked rather like him. Might be worth checking into."

"Tiny teeth?" Wallace asked.

"Good Lord, those teeth!" Ezra exclaimed. "He was in our Four Corners a month or so ago. It was like looking into a doll's mouth when he talks. Horrifying." He paused, putting a finger to his chin. "Can't quite remember seein' them on this man though. It's a notable characteristic. Strange that I wasn't again transfixed by the sight. Of course, I was some distance from him. I don't believe he spoke"

"Check on it," the detective said to one of the officers. "He's usually hanging around train stations. Wire Sheriff Thompson. He'll know McAvoy's whereabouts." He looked toward another of the men, "Find out if he's been in town lately."

The men who'd crowded near to hear Ezra's stories began dispersing.

"Anyway, I've had a busy mornin'," Ezra explained to Nathan. "And unfortunately, I must remain here for a while yet while they work the case. They're so much more thorough than anything we perform in our wild environs. The information that they have at their fingerstips is astonishing! Mr. Dunne would be goggle-eyed at the prospects. These men are amazin' and I wouldn't mind the chance to see real police work in action."

Nathan nodded, not wanting to speak, not knowing what to say at this point. What the hell was Ezra up to?

Ezra looked dour. "They want to interview me while they can. I'm rather inaccessible once I'm on the train and they want answers now. Questioning me via telegraph in Four Corners is a discouraging endeavor. Plus, they want me to stay here while they search my room at the hotel." He glanced at the men. "Apparently, they don't trust me."

"Standard procedure," Wallace said. "You were at the site of the break-in, so they just want to check to be sure."

"We're all lawkeepers," Ezra said, looking forlorn. "But I can see the wisdom. One must check all the possibilities, no matter how improbable."

"We have to get back," Nathan said, keeping his voice low. "Doc Meer is leaving and I'm needed."

"Yes, you are," Ezra said. "Please, Mr. Jackson, continue on your way without me. I'll follow along as soon as I'm released."

"I don't want to leave you here," Jackson said, looking around the station.

"Have no worries," Ezra stated. "I'll make good use of my time in the city. And what could they possibly find in my room? Oh!" He paused, looking to the detective. "If you find any marked cards in my baggage, that's evidence. I confiscated the pack from a man on the train. Same with the loaded dice – part of an ongoing police investigation!"

Turning to Nathan, Ezra continued, "You're needed, and I – not so much. I'm certain the others will be glad to have you back to lighten their load. I, on the other hand, will enjoy another day of leisure." He lifted his foot to rest on the wastebasket again. "I'll see you when I return home. Be sure to give Chaucer a pat when you see him in Ridge City. Tell him I'll be there soon."

Nathan nodded, seeing the wisdom in the situation.

Standish extended a hand and said, "See you soon."

They shook and Nathan tried not to react when he felt something pressed into his hand. He let the hand drop loosely to his side, his thumb tucking the paper into his palm. He couldn't believe Ezra was practicing his sleight of hand in front of so many officers.

 _Idiot!_

Still, nobody seemed to notice.

"Send a wire to Four Corners to let us know what's goin' on," Nathan said, hoping he wasn't attracting attention. "They'll relay it to me. I'll be checking in when the train stops."

"Of course."

Nathan glanced about at the police office, feeling the weight of their gaze upon him. There were so many questions to be asked, but he held his tongue – for now at least. He itched to see what was in his hand.

Ezra continued to grin as if this was the most excitement he'd had in ages, his eyes darting from one place to another in the busy office, taking it all in. "This will be so interesting," he said.

Wallace nodded to one of the men, "Danvers, Go with Jackson," he said. "Check it out." He gave Nathan a thin, practiced smile. "If you're with Standish, we just need to search your luggage before you leave town." He glanced to Ezra, and although Standish continued to smile cheerfully, Nathan saw that look from Wallace – that look that he couldn't trust Ezra.

"Just, be careful, Ezra," Nathan told him, wondering if he should be regretting this.

"I always am," Ezra told him. "I'll only be a day behind you. Safe journey."

Nathan would be in trouble if any of the officers tried to shake his hand when he left, but nobody stepped forward.

He turned and left the station, feeling uncomfortable with a police officer following him down the street. People watched. People saw. They moved out of their way, giving him unpleasant looks.

Nathan kept his eyes forward, defying anyone to think the worst.

He casually put his hands in his pocket at one point so that he could stash the object that Ezra had passed. Soon enough, the hands were at his side again. Danvers wasn't looking for anything so small.

They didn't say a word as they traveled.

The two men reached the hotel and Nathan returned to his room. Danvers made a quick circuit of the place, searching for the missing artwork. When he found the half-carved cane, he gave it a look. Apparently realizing the quality, he let it drop to the floor.

He opened Nathan's traveling bag and shook it to move the contents around, then dumped it to the bed. He didn't touch anything, but scrutinized it for several moments. Finally, satisfied, he tossed the empty bag to the bed. "You're good," he said, and then turned from the room, letting the door shut behind him.

Those were the only two words spoken.

Nathan waited a minute glaring at the shut door, feeling a heat reach his face. Finally, he stepped to the bed to fold his clothing, repacked everything and then latched the bag shut. He picked up the cane from where it had fallen to the ground.

Once he'd gathered everything and was certain that Danvers wasn't returning, he fished the object out of his pocket.

The thick paper was folded into a small square. Once he unfolded it, he found two pages with different paper quality – one a thick cardstock, the other lightweight. He frowned, not immediately recognizing them, but once the outer layer was splayed open, he shook his head in wonder.

Here was the sign that had been displayed with his chess set in the museum. The other paper was the sales receipt that they'd seen at George Spencer's. How Ezra ended up with that? Nathan shook his head, realizing that Ezra had used his sleight of hand more than once.

Nathan stared at the two pieces for several seconds, and then turned them over to see if any additional message had been inscribed on them.

Nothing.

He had no time to ponder it though. Danvers had delayed him, and the train would be reaching the station soon. He had to go.

.7.7.7

The ride back to Four Corners would take days. Nathan settled into a row of seats on the rickety car assigned to him.

To pass the time, he worked at his carving during the pauses at stations – the ride was too rough to attempt it while in motion. The horse wasn't coming together. He frowned in frustration as he stared at his work. It just wasn't good. It was as if all his skill had fled him.

What had happened to him? Since he'd lost the set, he'd lost his ability to carve. It was as if he'd betrayed of all those people in his life and was paying the price.

Carving used to come so easily to him. All he had to do was picture the image and his hands moved in the right directions, his knife bit in exactly where it needed to go. Lifelike images sprung from his hands.

When he'd created the black knights, he'd fashioned the antelope and zebra from the memory of a circus poster and a photograph. The animals were far from perfect. They had been early pieces for him and showed less finesse than the white knights. In the end, the dark animals came out stylized and fantastical. They had a simplicity that worked, that made them look authentic - as if they'd been carved in the great expanse of an African plain.

The white knights' horses were beautiful things. Captain Gile's charger was a fine animal to behold. The carved horse reared high with nostrils flaring, eyes looking forward. It was ready to leap into battle. Doctor Klein had ridden a patient old mare that was immune to the sound of gunfire. It had been strange to think of old Gert dancing on her hind legs, so Nathan had to imagine her jumping a fence. She ended up with her legs lifted tentatively, her eyes gazing downward as if worried about a rail. Doc Klein's expression seemed a little anxious at the prospect. People smiled when they held that piece.

Where was that chess set now? He pressed a hand to the folded card in his pocket – realizing that Ezra had risked a lot to tell him that the set was safe.

Nathan felt his heart race with excitement at that possibility. Shouldn't he be wishing it had been left alone? Why was he so happy to think that it was no longer in that museum?

But where was it now? The pieces had not been found and Ezra apparently didn't have any of them in his possession.

What did he do with it?

Ezra had blamed the robbery on McAvoy. The man had stolen the set initially. If Ezra had taken it, let McAvoy be blamed. But why did he only go part-way with the accusation? He could have been adamant. Why sow a seed of doubt into his story?

Because the police officers of St. Louis would figure out that McAvoy couldn't have been there. It was miracle that Wallace knew McAvoy, but Nathan had little doubt that the truth would have come out eventually. Unit 4 had a wealth of information available to them. They would have discovered the thief's whereabouts.

Nathan stilled.

Kansas City. Wallace had said that McAvoy was most likely in Kansas City. He stayed near the train station. Sheriff Thompson would know where to find him.

Nathan's train would reach Kansas City before the end of the day. He smiled at that thought. They were currently at a stop, but he wished the train was underway again. They were wasting too much time.

Needing to expel nervous energy, Nathan stood and paced the nearly empty car.

He would sent a telegram to Four Corners, letting them know that he'd be delayed – that he'd be getting off in Kansas City and would probably have to spend the night there, taking the next train.

At his last stop, Chris had responded to his update, letting him know that Ezra was on his way home as well – they were a day apart at that point. If Nathan stopped in Kansas City, that would cut the difference to a half-day.

At least that meant that Ezra had gotten away and he wasn't locked up somewhere over a stupid choice. Nathan shook his head, still angry about it. It was so dangerous, such an idiotic act! So many things might have gone wrong.

If they'd only had the money, they might have been able to purchase the set from the museum and kept Ezra from taking that risk. Would the museum have accepted a payment? Well, the idea wasn't worth pondering because Nathan knew would never have that amount, and Ezra apparently didn't have enough either.

Funny how that happened. Nathan could recall a time when Ezra always had money – with enough persuasion, he'd been able to peel off $300 to save Nettie's ranch – and had plenty to spare. He'd supplied the amount to free Li Pong. He used to be flush with cash all the time.

But it seemed that Ezra rarely had that much money available any longer.

Four Corners was no good for a gambler, Nathan realized. Standish wouldn't have any repeat customers if he fleeced them at every opportunity, and the big fish rarely swam into town. Ezra was making do with small change in a backwater town.

Ezra, who loved luxury, demanded the best quality, sought gain and relaxation – spent most of his time in a dusty town, sweating at duties that he would claim were beneath him, wasting his skills at penny ante games, spending untold hours at tasks that didn't benefit him, riding in the lowest class train cars… for what?

Why?

Ezra had been slow to offer up money for Nettie or for Li Pong, but he hadn't really known them, had he?

He had to care.

Ezra seemed indifferent to many things, but once he started to care about something – someone – you couldn't stop him from jumping into the fray, from going to the ends of the earth to help.

And Nathan realized that Ezra wasn't trying to make up anything to him, he wasn't trying to apologize for things that happened long ago – he was just being a friend.

As he waited for the train to start up again, Nathan picked up the unfinished cane and stared at the unsatisfactory horse head. He smiled a little, and started work again.

.7.7.7

When Nathan stepped off the train in Kansas City, he felt lighter. Gone were the bustling paved streets of St. Louis. Kansas City was a metropolis compared to Four Corners, but it was weathered and wild. It felt like home.

He opened the door to the sheriff's office and found two men loitering within the facility, not in starched blue uniforms, but in the simple western dress he was used to. A man with a walrus mustache and a brown vest looked up and asked, "Can I help you?"

Nathan nodded. "I'm looking for Sheriff Thompson."

"You found him," the man said. He nodded to the other man. "This is one of my deputies, Henry Dodd. And who might I be addressin'?"

"Nathan Jackson. I'm from Four Corners."

Both stood. They beamed "Well, well, well," Thompson said, extending a hand. "We've heard a lot about you."

"Me?" Nathan returned, surprised, as he shook hands with each of them.

"Well," Henry drawled. "We hear all sorts of stories about what goes on in Four Corners." He indicated a copy of the Clarion that was pinned to the wall. "Pleased to meet one of 'The Seven'. Esteemed healer and lawman - Nathan Jackson! Just wait until the rest of the boys hear about this!"

"You fellas do good work out there," Thompson went on. "Hear you're mighty fine with the doctorin' and good with a blade." He regarded Nathan, looking impressed. "Sounds like they keep your hands full in that town."

Nathan smiled and said, "They do indeed. We all keep pretty busy with what goes on there."

"You get more trouble than we do in the big city!" Henry said, gesturing to the dirt road that ran outside their door.

"Come on in," Thompson said, opening the half-door that separated the entrance from the rest of the room. "Have a seat - put up your feet - let us know what we can do for you."

Nathan was surprised by the attention, watching as Henry pulled a chair from one of the desks and pushed it over to him. When he set down his baggage, the deputy gave the cane a curious look.

"Mind if I look at that?" Henry asked. When Nathan gave him a nod, the deputy picked the cane up gingerly and whistled. "That's mighty fine work you got going there."

Jackson smiled. "I think I finally got it figured out. Took me a while, but once I had it fixed in my head, it started coming easy. It's not done yet but…"

"Pretty as hell," Henry said, handing the cane over to the sheriff.

Thompson turned the horse-head cane over in his hand. "Beautiful work." He held the cane up to the light and then turned, giving Nathan a wry look. "It looks like it's lookin' for trouble. I had a horse like that once. Best ride I ever had, but was always causin' a fuss."

"That's about right," Nathan said, accepting the cane as it was returned to him.

"Wish I could make something like that," Henry said. "Best I can do is make good coffee. You want any?"

"No, I… I just have some questions," Nathan said.

"Of course," Thompson responded, indicating the chair. Nathan took a seat as Thompson sat down on the corner of the desk and Henry took another chair.

"What can we do for you?" Thompson asked.

"I'm looking for information on Ruston McAvoy," Jackson responded.

The lawmen exchanged a look. "We got a wire yesterday morning about him from Saint Louis," the sheriff said. "Something about a museum robbery."

"Couldn't be our boy," Henry added. "He was here in town when it happened."

"Not his style, anyway," Thompson added. "McAvoy does smash-and-grab. Robbin' a museum takes some planning, some finesse. That just ain't McAvoy. I would've loved to have gotten him for that though. He's a lowlife that's always gettin' away with it 'cause he sells off the loot so fast."

"We got our eyes on some pawnbrokers along the train line," Henry added. "Got some dealers in Ridge City that don't have a problem with taking what he's got."

"But a museum?" Thompson shook his head. "He needs stuff that he can sell quickly. Museum pieces would be hard." He cocked his head. "Detective Wallace said that a chess set was stolen, a pretty expensive one. We haven't seen anything like that show up here, but we've sent out questions to the pawn shops, the usual places." He grimaced. "Not that it'll do us much good."

"He stole it, but not from the museum," Nathan told them. He watched as the men gave him curious looks. "He stole it from me originally, about three weeks ago. Stole it, and sold it to one of those Ridge City pawnshops – Woodman's."

Both men nodded, knowing the place.

"It got sold right away, and then given as a gift, then donated to the museum – then stolen."

"Hard luck," Henry said, sucking his teeth.

"Did you carve that stolen set?" Thompson said, eyeing the horse-head cane.

"Every piece," Nathan said. "It took me years and years, a lifetime."

"And McAvoy stole it from you?" Thompson asked. "You sure?"

"I'm certain," Nathan said, and was ready to launch into further convincing.

But, the two men stood and started toward the door. "Well, let's go get the critter and haul him in," Thompson said. He gave Nathan a nod, inviting him along, and the three men went out into the street – ready to bring in the criminal.

.7.7.7

It hadn't been hard to break McAvoy. He'd recognized Nathan immediately and went a little white when he appeared with the sheriff and his deputy. He gaped, showing off those awful tiny teeth. When he tried to deny everything, Nathan produced the bill of sale.

He didn't confess, but his reaction was enough to provoke Thompson and Henry. They dragged him into the pokey and promised Nathan that they'd follow through with Woodman's Pawnshop.

"We'll get him on this," Thompson told him. "One of those city criminals in St. Louis probably got off with the set. They're the worst. I'm afraid it may be gone for good. At least we'll get the two thieves at the start of this. They won't be doing this again."

With their promises, Nathan spent the night, and then took the first train out in the morning.

His work continued on the cane, whenever the train was at a stop. He brought more character to the horse and details to his expensive-looking bridle. He opened the mouth to show off teeth that seemed determined to snatch a hat off someone's head, with lips that were ready to pluck a candy from an outstretched hand.

He smiled as he worked, feeling happy for the first time since he'd discovered the chess set was missing. Even when the train was delayed for hours in the middle of nowhere, he was content in the wait, getting some descent rest once the final changes were applied to the carving.

When the train started moving again, well behind schedule, he was done with the work.

 **TBC**

 _one more section to go!_


	9. For Love of the Game - part 5

**PART 5:**

The train pulled into Ridge City, finding an unhappy crowd at the station. It was dreadfully late, after all.

Nathan stepped down into the midst of them and began making his way toward the livery to retrieve his horse. He stopped when something caught his eye, and he turned toward the man leaning against the roof support.

"Nathan," Chris said in an even voice. "You're late."

"Train got stopped," Nathan explained. "A freight almost derailed at a switch. Took them a while to get it righted."

Chris nodded.

With a frown, Nathan asked, "Why'd you come? I was just going to get Badger and head home."

With a tip of his head, Larabee said, "A package came in for me. Freight company sent a wire. Said it'd take a few days before they'd reached Four Corners. I could come to get it if I wanted." He smiled. "First, I thought, let it wait, but then I figured I'd might as well make sure you boys made it home. You two have a way of getting redirected."

Nathan nodded at that.

"Thought I told you to let me know before you tried anything. Seems you ignored me."

"Ezra…" Nathan said, not needing to add any more.

"I get no respect," Larabee muttered.

Nathan glanced to the train station's clock. "He's almost caught up to me by now."

Larabee nodded. "Figured I could corral both of you at once this way. Next train should be here in about an hour." He inclined his head. "You want to grab some dinner while we wait?"

"I could eat," Nathan told him.

Larabee pushed himself off the post and picked up a crate near his feet. Nathan's eyes fastened on it and then he reached out to touch the label. Chris gave him a curious look.

"Chris, have you opened it?" Nathan asked as his hand crept like a living thing along the top.

Larabee shrugged. "Figure I'd do that it when I got back. It'll get it home safer if it stays closed up. I got no idea what's in there."

"I do," Nathan said, his heart thumping with excitement. With a lurch, Nathan pulled the crate out of Chris' hands and found an even surface where he could set it down. He pulled a knife and pried up the top.

Larabee stepped closer. "That's mine, you know," he said. With an amused tone, he added, "Might be private."

Nathan kept at his work. The box was addressed to Chris Larabee in Four Corners. The handwriting was in block writing. The postmark showed that it came from Saint Louis. It had probably arrived on the train that Nathan was originally riding.

Nathan pulled away the top of the box to reveal a layer of crumpled papers. Immediately, he jerked away the stuffing to reveal a row of pawns. Eight familiar faces looked up at him.

He tears came to his eyes and a little laugh escaped him as he touched them all, one at a time.

He worked his way downward through the layers. They were all there - every last one! His parents, his sisters, Miz Lizzy, the Lincolns, Pastor Grady, Captain Giles, Doctor Klein with his horse Gert – and Vin and Josiah, JD and Buck, Ezra, Chris and two Nathans – one for each side.

He picked up the black king and queen, marveling at his ability to hold them once again – his regal parents. They looked so proud.

The knights, the rooks, the bishops, the pawns. One at a time, he removed each one, inspected it, touched it, felt its weight, and then returned it to the box.

He remembered each name, recalled their voices, the way each person laughed, how he could tell if they were teasing him or being serious. He remembered likes and dislikes, habits and gestures. He recalled what would make each person happiest – remembered how he treasured each friendship.

They were his once again, and as he held them, he knew he would never let them go.

When he finally looked up, he saw Chris looking at the horse-head cane, smiling.

"It's a work of art," Chris told him.

Finally, for the first time, Nathan nodded and said, "I know."

He must have taking longer than he thought as he examined the contents of the box, because by the time he had the last piece returned, they could hear the sound of the afternoon train coming from a distance – a little ahead of schedule.

"Figure you can start telling me about all this while we get the horses," Chris said.

.7.7.7

Ezra looked down at them as he made his way out of the train car, smiling widely. He opened his mouth to speak but, before he was entirely clear of the car, Larabee grabbed him by the lapel and jerked him the rest of the way.

"We're going," Larabee said gruffly as he let go, turning and leading the way.

Ezra stumbled clumsily to keep up. He tossed a furtive look to Nathan, saying, "I suppose you received the same treatment?"

Jackson shook his head, following. "Not so much," he responded.

The three horses were waiting for them at the railing. Chaucer tossed his head, whinnying and jerking at his reins the moment Ezra came around the last train car, and everything had to wait as the gambler greeted his mighty steed.

"Come on, Ezra," Larabee said, after allowing for a few moments. He climbed into Job's saddle. "Get moving."

"Why the rush?" Ezra asked, as he combed his fingers through his horse's mane, and Chaucer grabbed at his hat.

"We want the story," Larabee said. "The whole damn story. Figure you're going to keep quiet 'til we're free of town, so we're gonna get free of town."

"What about dinner?" Ezra asked hopefully.

Chris pointed to his saddlebags. "Picked up some stuffed pastries at a vendor." When Chris nodded to the ram-shackle stand that sold meat pies, Ezra looked dubious. Chris added, "You'll like them."

"I'm not promising," Ezra replied, and then added, "Nathan informed you of our adventures?"

"As much as he could," Chris said.

"I have no idea what you were doing at that museum," Nathan said seriously.

Ezra looked innocent and confused as he regarded Chris' expression. He asked Nathan, "Why's he so upset? We're all home, safe and sound," he replied, moving his head, trying to outmaneuver his excited horse.

"He's mad that you didn't wire him first," Nathan said. "About everything."

Ezra shrugged. "There was no time and it seemed ill-advised, considerin' the circumstances."

Chris grumbled.

Ezra's eyes widened suddenly. "You received the box!" he cried, noting the crate tied to the back of Badger's saddle

Nathan didn't know exactly what to say at that moment. He wanted to hug the man, and rattle him until his teeth shook. Ezra gave him a curious look and stepped back a little.

"You took an awful risk!" Nathan finally hissed at him.

"And succeeded!" Ezra responded, pointing to the box.

"We should've gone about it the legal way!" Nathan's voice had dropped to a whisper. "The right way!"

"When have I ever done anything the 'right' way?" Ezra asked. "And what does 'legal' mean to me? Besides, this was more efficient, and you were balking. I saw the opportunity and I took it." He gave Nathan a defiant look.

"You could've been arrested, shot, who knows what! You could've been hurt."

"I wasn't," Ezra responded, his voice low as he glanced about at the train station's crowd. "It was worth the risk."

Still fighting with the urge to shake him, Nathan extended a hand. Ezra looked at the hand for a moment, as if expecting a slap, and tentatively took it, letting Nathan give him a hearty handshake.

And then, unable to help himself, Nathan pulled Ezra into an embrace. He grabbed fistfuls of Ezra jacket as he drew him in, not letting Standish have a say in the matter. There was so much to say, but Nathan just tried to squeeze the stuffing out of the conman. It was almost as if he could hold all those long lost people once again. Ezra let him.

Finally, after only a few moments, Nathan pulled a hand loose and gave Ezra a couple of hard raps on the back, and released him.

Ezra stepped away, looking startled as hell, and then something seemed to shake loose and he gave Nathan a smile, a warm natural smile.

Nathan said, hardly able to speak, "You got my life back to me. I don't know how I can thank you."

Ezra shrugged, his smile not dropping. "It was for my love of adventure," he said. "I was growing a little bored in town, and you know that only causes trouble."

Nathan wanted to say more, but was cut off by Chris.

"Let's go," Chris insisted, turning his horse and starting on his way. "Ezra's got a tale to tell and I'm not waiting any longer for it." Job took off, making a beeline out of town.

Nathan watched Ezra's movements, frowning as he seemed to struggle a little to get onto his horse. Before Nathan could question him, Ezra said, "We'd best catch him or there'll be hell to pay," and kneed his horse to follow their leader.

Nathan fell in behind.

They were just barely clear of the town when Chris slowed, letting Ezra come alongside. Nathan swung around to surround him.

"Spill it," Chris said. "Tell us what the hell you were up to in that museum."

After a quick glance around, Ezra apparently decided it was safe to speak. "Well," he said. "Nathan told you that we'd located his chess set?" Ezra asked, and received nods in return. "It was a fine museum indeed. In fact, that night, there was to be a lecture - an explorer from the Amazon. You know how much I enjoy hearing stories of adventure. I love a good adventure."

Ezra smiled at the others as he continued. "I did a little shopping prior to my return to the institution," he said, gesturing to the dark suit that he was wearing, and then brushed at it discontentedly. "It requires tailoring of course, but one must make do. After the shopping excursion, I found a room at a hotel, and then left to attend the lecture. The speaker had spent weeks in the wild environs of Brazil, Colombia and Peru. Had seen snakes with a girth wider than your arm! The deadly constrictor was capable of squeezing the life right out of a grown man. They're known to drop from trees to enwrap their unsuspecting prey. A slow and horrible death. Amazing animals indeed. Did you know the area has rodents as big as dogs? Imagine such a beast scurrying behind your wainscoting. The most colorful birds imaginable and…"

"Ezra," Larabee cut in. "Keep on track."

"Why yes, of course, now where was I? Yes, there was a lecture at the museum. I attended. The speaker had fascinating material. Still, I grew weary of the discourse. The gentleman had this terrible habit of going off course, bein' distracted by the tiniest thing. Why, at one point he started talkin' about the fish of the Amazon, and the next moment he was discussing the fish market in Boston. It was annoying to say the least. At times I believe he was trying to avoid certain topics because…"

"Ezra," Larabee said again.

"Right! Well, the museum itself was closed. Only the lecture hall was open, with a velvet rope strung over the opening to the museum proper. The speaker was going on about the vicious nature of the Amazon's fish population, tellin' of how the terrible piranha is capable of skeletonizing a full-grown cow in a matter of moments. While the audience and security guards, was enraptured in his vivid details, I slipped over the rope to begin a private viewing on the museum. It was dark, but I knew my way well enough. It was when I was examining the Egyptian sarcophagus in the Spencer Room…"

"In the dark," Chris added.

"Well yes, but the object was inlayed, and I found that I could feel the details. You remember it, Nathan?"

Nathan shrugged, not wanting to speak just yet, hardly recalling the piece that stood in the Spencer gallery.

"Well, yes, I was feeling the details when a sudden weariness came over me. I thought, if a pharaoh could sleep in such a place, I might try it as well."

"It's not for sleeping," Chris stated. "It's for entombing the dead."

"Dead?" Ezra looked alarmed. "Well, it's best that I didn't know that at the time. I tucked myself inside, and leaned back, closing my eyes. I must have drifted. When I opened my eyes again, I discovered that hours had past, the lecture had ended and the audience all departed to their warm homes and families. The final rounds had been performed by the guards and the museum was silent."

They kept their horses moving, making their way to Four Corners. Ezra seemed pleased as punch in his storytelling. Nathan and Chris kept him hemmed in, as if concerned that he'd take off again.

"Fully awake now, I checked the doors, finding everything locked, bolted from the outside. I was trapped inside! Well, with nothing else to do, I lit a lamp and busied myself until the museum would open again in the morning."

"And by 'busying', you mean 'stealing'," Chris said.

Ezra harrumphed. "I stole nothing. I simply packed up Mr. Jackson belongings and addressed them so that they could be returned. I had to open the offices of the museum to find the shipping department. There was a small stack of boxes meant to go out with the morning mail. I included one more. Oh, and I opened a window because it was a little stuffy."

"So that they'd think that's how the thief got in," Chris added.

"It's possible," Ezra commented.

Chris continued with his prodding. "The police found a box with some valuable things."

"Wishful shopping," Ezra said. "I picked up a little of this, a little of that. Then just left it at the doorway when I realized it would be difficult to sell." He glanced at the others and said, "By that time I was tired again. It was nearly morning, after all. I decided I would have to break out if I were to have any sleep before our train ride. Not wanting to alarm the local law, I'd been checking the activity of the officer in the street. I timed when he passed the front of the museum – then I waited until he was gone and I shouldered the door open."

"What about the open window?" Chris asked. "You could have gotten out there."

Ezra shrugged. "I needed someone to take the fall." He went on, "The breaking of the latch made some noise, and I couldn't be sure how far the officer had gone. I certainly didn't want to be incarcerated for simply freeing stolen merchandise." Ezra looked toward Nathan saying, "We should do our best to track down McAvoy."

"He's in custody already," Nathan said, finally speaking. "The Kansas City law is going after Woodman Pawn next."

"Well done, Mr. Jackson!" Ezra cried. "Then all is as it should be. You have your chess set," he gestured to the box, "The wrong-do'ers have been apprehended." And pressing a hand to his chest, he said, "And those who should be blameless are free."

"What about Spencer?" Chris stated. "What's he going to say when he catches wind of this?"

"Spencer is going to remember us visiting, and that we asked about the set," Nathan said. "Someone's going to tell him about the theft of his donation. He'll remember our names. He committed them to memory." Nathan pointed at his head as Spencer had.

"How could I forget?" With a sigh, Ezra explained, "I sent a letter with the rest of the outgoing mail." He lifted his gaze to meet Chris's glance. "I explained to Mr. George Spencer that he had been in possession of stolen merchandise, provided by his son. His son most likely knew something of the history of the set from the start. I'm betting he's acquired a few other similar items from Woodman's. In any case, the younger Spencer was well aware of the set's true owner after we spoke to him. He still refused to give up any information. I let the older Spencer know that his son might be called up on charges if pressed." He shrugged and added, "I have no idea if that is legally admissible, but the threat should work."

He continued guiding his horse forward, smiling to himself. "We were, after all, just investigating a crime as lawmen from Four Corners."

"You put all that in writing?" Chris asked. "Seems risky."

Ezra scoffed. "Please, Mr. Larabee. My comments were veiled, couched in phrases that couldn't be held against me in a court of law." He rolled his eyes as if this was nothing new, then he looked to Nathan and said, "I suggested to him that you might be persuaded to carve something new for his gallery. I understand the need for such a display at the museum, but no one deserves to hold your life except for yourself."

Nathan was silent. There was a time when his life was not his own. People he loved, family and friends, had been torn from him and he'd had no say in the matter. It had hurt him every time he'd suffered a loss like that. He'd been powerless, ineffective in those goodbyes. They'd torn him apart. It couldn't help but change a man.

Getting the chess set back helped salve that hurt a little bit.

Reaching into his rifle scabbard, Nathan pulled the cane free and held it out to Ezra.

Standish smiled. "Ah, I see!" he exclaimed. "You've already started on a replacement. Finished it?" Ezra grasped the cane with a grin. "Let us hope that the museum…"

Chaucer came to a stop and Nathan brought Badger up beside him. Chris's horse outpaced them by a few lengths and finally stopped. Larabee turned in his saddle.

Transfixed, Ezra stared at the horse head for one long moment, a fond smile growing. It dipped after a moment. "For the museum?" he asked, his voice cool.

"No, Ezra. It's for you," Nathan told him.

Ezra didn't speak. He just twisted the cane this way and that, looking at the carving from every angle. He smiled like a child on Christmas morning.

Since Ezra said nothing, Nathan spoke. "Looks like you could use a cane. You were limping when you got off the train. Other foot this time. I figure you weren't still trying to keep up that ruse."

Ezra's gaze didn't stray from the cane as he held it close for careful examination. Finally, he licked his lips and said in a disinterested voice, "I had to keep it up at the police station as I wasn't sure if our earlier visit at the museum had been communicated to the local law. The problem with faking a limp, is that it inevitably causes one to take a misstep. I ended up with a twisted ankle."

"I'll want to look at that when we get home."

Ezra nodded, but Nathan wasn't really sure if he'd heard. Ezra's attention stayed on the cane as he ran a careful finger over the carving, caressing the head.

Finally, his examination complete, Ezra held out the cane as if to let Chaucer see it as well. Another horse might have flinched to have a stick pointed so close to its eyes, but Chaucer just looked bored and ready to be underway again.

"Look," Ezra said. "It's you."

Chaucer blinked.

Ezra turned to the healer, his eyes misty, and said, "Thank you, Nathan. It's beautiful. You've captured Chaucer perfectly. I've never received anything like this before." He reached across to grasp Nathan's arm, holding onto it firmly. He smiled. "Thank you," he said again. "Thank you, my friend."

Ahead of them, Chris was facing forward again, looking out across the distance toward Four Corners as his horse swished his tail.

"Ezra, I wanted to thank you for everything that you did for me," Nathan told him. "You never stopped trying to help me, even after I told you to stop. You're a good friend. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated your help."

And both men were silent for a moment.

Ahead of them, Chris finally spoke. "We need to get moving," he stated. "We got work to get done back home."

"Ah yes," Ezra said, finally relaxing his grip on Nathan. "Back home. It's time we went."

And so, they continued forward.

.7.7

Nathan sat on his balcony, relaxing in the afternoon sun as he carved. A little pile of curled shavings lay at his feet. The knife tip gouged in, carefully twisting into a tiny detail. He blew on the spot when he was done.

He'd spent a few fretful weeks since their return, worried about what might happen if word got out that he was in possession of the chess set once again. But, he realized he'd tell the truth if pressed – someone had shipped it through the mail – the thief no doubt, setting things right.

Everything was now as it should be.

He paused in his work when he heard the distinctive sound of Ezra's walk as the gambler climbed the stairway to the clinic.

Standish had become a menace with the cane since its presentation. He'd needed it at first, to rest a sore ankle, but since then he'd been using it as a walking stick, a pointer, a hook to retrieve things and a poker to gain attention.

The residents of Four Corners had become used to seeing him, wielding it with a flourish as he clipped down the boardwalks, twirling it as he waited for anything, tapping it when he'd waited too long, balancing it on his open palm or foot just to show off and just being generally obnoxious.

It was the price they all paid for keeping the con artist amongst them.

"Nathan!" Ezra said cheerfully as he spotted the healer. "How good to find you here."

"I'm usually here this time of day," Nathan pointed out as he added the last detail to the ear he was carving.

Ezra smiled, taking the chair next to him. He folded his hands over the horse head and rested his chin on top. "You're working on the replacement for the chess set for the museum's display!" he exclaimed. "And well along, I see."

Nathan nodded, looking at the finished piece that rested on the table. He was still working on the second piece. The body had been roughed out and the head was nearly complete.

"It's your father," Ezra said, recognizing the first piece instantly.

"Yeah, it is," Nathan said as he set down the figure with his mother's features. He picked up his father and handed it to Ezra.

Standish smiled as he shifted the cane to the crook of his arm and took the offered piece. "It's delightful," he declared. "Beautifully made."

It was his father as he'd been in Nathan's childhood. The figure wore simple, worn clothing. He carried a shovel in his calloused-looking hand. He seemed tired, standing with a slight hunch to his shoulders, his clothing looked dirty and patched, his face looked prematurely old.

His mother wore her thick hair tied back. Her eyes were downward, her brow creased with worry. She would be looking toward her children when they were completed. She'd be wearing an apron and carrying a basket of laundry. Her clothing would be simple and well-used.

They were so different from the regal versions of the chess set. The king and queen wore furs and adorned with jewels. These figures would be careworn.

"Will it hurt to give them up?" Ezra asked quietly as he continued to study the piece.

Nathan shook his head. "I'm making these for others, to show them what our life really looked like so that folks could remember, so that they'd never forget."

"You could make a good living," Ezra said as he examined the piece. "There are plenty who'd pay top dollar for your work."

Nathan shrugged. "I can't do it that way, Ezra. I figured it out on the train ride home. I have to care about each piece. I have to…" he paused and frowned, not knowing how to put it into words. "It won't come alive unless I put some of myself into it. That's not going to happen if I'm making it for sale. I have to care about where it ends up."

Ezra's gaze flicked up to meet his for a moment, before returning his attention to the carving. "Pity," he said, turning the piece slowly in his hands, while the walking stick rested against his arm. "Astounding work."

Nathan nodded to the piece, saying, "I was thinking about showing the worst of it, but this is better. They're just going about their work. I'll make my sisters next. I'm hoping I can get it done quickly so I can get the pieces on display soon as possible."

Ezra nodded. "Anyone would see them as people in hard times – hard times that were forced upon them." He looked up at Nathan, "These will make a bigger impact than the chess set." As he turned the image of Obadiah Jackson, Ezra said, "I truly appreciate the way you carved his eyes."

"Beaten down?" Nathan asked, not sure what was finally portrayed there.

"No," Ezra said. "Hopeful. He looks as if he's staring into the distance, anticipating the future and what will come."

Nathan smiled at that.

As Ezra settled the carving, he asked, "Will you include yourself as well?"

"Yeah," Nathan said. "'Cause I need to be with them, to be there, too. This was my life." He'd carve himself as a child – full of the same hope he'd reflected in his father's eyes, tempered with a fierceness and a desire for something better, a determination to make it so.

He settled the unfinished figure of his mother beside his father and asked, "Did you need something?"

Ezra shook his head, "No need for anything today. All is quiet and calm." He picked up the cane from where it rested, and gave it a tap. "I was just wonderin' if you'd be up to a game of chess this afternoon, but I see you're busy."

With a chuckle, Nathan stood and gestured to the doorway. "I got it all set up and ready to go. I'd love a game."

Ezra grin widely as he stood, and as Nathan led the way, he followed, his walking stick ticking away beside him.

Nathan opened the door and smiled, as he always did when he looked at his chess set on the marble board that Ezra had acquired for him. Could it be stolen again? Perhaps, but he'd keep better track of it. It wasn't going to be packed away in a crate where it might be forgotten. No, from now on, it would be out – always – ready for a game – ready for questions – on view.

It seemed to glow in the warm afternoon light as it waited for another game.

 **THE END**

 _Thank you so much for all of your amazing reviews_


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